The Tower Window
by XoDramaQueenoX
Summary: We all know the story. Harry Potter vanquishes the Dark Lord and the battle of Hogwarts is won. But the untold wrinkle is this: The Death Eaters didn't quit and the war continued. After untold losses the Order of the Phoenix is almost gone. To save the wizarding world, Hermione takes it on herself to invoke a dangerous mission. She gives herself, as prisoner, to Draco Malfoy.
1. Malfoy Manor

**Summary:** This story doesn't have to invalidate the Epilogue at 9 3/4. The battle of Hogwarts was won - just like in the book. Only difference is this: That battle didn't end the war... The Death Eaters re-grouped and kept on fighting.

**Contents:** This is a dark Gothic romantic/adventure story. There won't be fluff - there will be blood.

**Rating:** Episodes of rather dark violence and scenes of a sexual nature. ** Rated M**.

**Disclaimer:** JK Rowling owns the settings and characters you recognize - the rest is mine.

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"**Every life has death and every light has shadow. Be content to stand in the light and let the shadow fall where it will." – Mary Stewart**

**The Tower Window**

**Part One  
**

**1\. Malfoy Manor**

Hermione resumed corporeal form on the outer grounds of Malfoy Manor. Opening her eyes, the sprawling stone edifice stood all before her, a prodigious gray silhouette contrasted against a milky sky. Like a slap in the face, a constant reminder of its connection to pure-blood supremacy, it stood there defiant, humbling into submission all things around it.

Stones crunched under foot as she stepped onto a gravel path that led up to the mansion. Proceeding bravely along uneven terrain, the cold stinging wind whipped against her bare legs and signaled the coming of winter.

Passing through a span of junipers, she traversed a long stretch of hedgerow that autumn had faded into an olive drab. Proceeding cautiously, she made her way until dwarfed by the two great doors of Malfoy Manor. A single carpetbag, which held her entire belongings, weighed heavily in her right hand. Stretching to reach the heavy iron knocker, she pulled back then hammered the door with a deafening report.

After a few moments the cold wind was pushed back by the opening of the door. A single house-elf stood there guarding the way.

He looked her over suspiciously. "What do you want?"

"I'm Hermione Granger – I'm to report here." She handed the elf a ragged sheet of yellowed parchment. The house-elf took the parchment and rolled huge glassy eyes between the contents of the document and Hermione as if trying to weigh the authenticity of the document he held in his gnarly hand.

"Wait here," the elf croaked, and pointed to a spot on the granite floor and then trotted off.

Frozen on the very spot the elf pointed at, it was several minutes later before the slapping of fleshy oversized feet on stone floors announced the elf's return.

"Come this way," he ordered.

The elf led her through the great hall of the mansion. She looked up at the spot where the great chandelier had once hung to see a substitute, much smaller and less grand than the original. There was the spot on the floor where Bellatrix had tortured her before Dobby had saved the day. Stepping carefully around precious artifacts and steely gray suits of armor they passed the great fireplace. The thing was big enough to roast a small horse. It's crackling blazes heated only a small section of the great hall, but she lingered a moment to absorb precious warmth.

The elf stopped to look back impatiently and then proceeded down a dimly lit corridor at the end of the hall. The corridor was completely lined with stag heads, forming a long macabre display. Past the last deer head, the elf paused to rap on a door. A muffled 'come in' could be heard on the other side.

The elf struggled with the latch but finally managed. Opening the door, the elf stood aside for Hermione to enter. When she did, he closed the door behind her. The study was warm and cozy, but she knew the comfort was not meant for her. Casually and at length, a snow white head raised and gray eyes lifted to take notice of her. Slowly, the slender figure rose from behind the mahogany desk.

Draco Malfoy, dressed in the same black jacket, white shirt, and narrow black tie, moved slowly around the huge desk. The yellow parchment she had given the elf was rolled up in his hand. The walls were lined with shelves of leather volumes, some old, some new. The dark wooden walls, slick with oil and age, reflected the light from a nearby candelabra. At last, Draco circumnavigated the huge desk and stood facing Hermione. He looked her over, discreetly at first, from head to toe and then curled the corner of his mouth into a wry grin. He looked at the parchment and then back at the young witch as if weighing his options. Hermione stood there, restlessly as he had not yet invited her to sit.

"Can I sit or is this an official inspection?" she asked. Annoyed, Draco nodded and pointed toward a velvet covered chair off to one side of a small fireplace. She set down the bag, and casually took the chair before giving her attention back to the slender figure. "Thanks."

"You're late," he began. "This document says you were due two days ago."

"I had important business."

Draco paused at the answer and then shook his head.

"I trust it's taken care of now?" He snarled and slapped the palm of his hand with the parchment.

"I think so," she replied, not looking at Draco but at the wooden floors. Her bare legs were still pink from the cold wind outside.

"Do you know why the Ministry has ordered you here Granger?"

"I only know what the document says pureblood... to report here," she quipped.

Draco slid another chair to the other side of the fireplace.

"You won't find the story pleasing Granger, but I'll tell you anyway."

"I kind of figured you would," she replied with insolence.

"Your side Granger – lost the war. Oh, I imagine it was very touching to watch Potter vanquish the Dark Lord. Spirits were high and all were full of hope, I'm sure. But that was one battle – and the only battle your side ever won."

"They're still fighting," she replied with a touch of hope in her voice.

"And still losing... It's over Granger, and it so happens I'm in control now."

Hermione's head shot up, her eyes two fiery slits.

"You seen a lot of the war here in Wiltshire – pureblood?"

Draco ignored the insult and continued.

"This is a control center for our efforts. Lucius has fallen out of favor and the others are dead. So I'm in control. We have the Ministry in our back pockets and your side in this war is finished. Did you know – that every one of your rebel friends has a death sentence hanging over their heads?"

Draco paused to study her reaction but there was none.

"Oh yes," he continued. "There are six death eaters looking for Potter every day. Every day. One day they'll catch him. As for your friend Weasley – his outcome will be the same – and not too long from now I suppose. But that leaves you Granger... sadly I saw your termination orders come in just the other day."

"That must have broken you up."

"It did – and do you want to know why?"

Hermione didn't answer. She looked blankly at the floor.

"Granger, look at me," he demanded, but she remained fixed on the floor.

"I tried to sign the order. I really did," he orated and moved up from the chair. From the desk he pulled out an official looking document. When she still didn't look up, he grabbed a handful of bushy hair and yanked her head up. He waved the parchment in her face.

"Just one signature Granger; that's all it would take. And I almost did it. The quill was inches from the parchment, but then I couldn't. Do you know why?"

"Prey tell."

"It was all those years at school. All those years, I insulted you every way I knew how. I called you every foul name I could think of. Threw curses at you. Some you deflected some you didn't," he said and smiled. "But somehow, I never felt I was able to put you in your proper place."

"I feel for you," she quipped bitterly.

"And, I thought," he continued without delay. "I thought – why not continue where I left off. I'll sign a different order. One that will save your life. And I did. You are now a ward of the magical state. Here in Malfoy Manor you'll stay and perform the duties assigned to you. If you fail, or resist, try to escape, or shirk your responsibilities in any way, then it's this instead," he said and waved the termination order in her face. "Do you understand?"

"I think I get the picture."

Draco rose from the chair. "Then, I'll have your wand Granger."

She looked up at him as if incapable of the request.

"Granger... it's this or the Ministry. And you know what they'll do. You make the choice," he went on and stretched his hand out a little further. Hermione exhaled a long breath and then pulled her wand from within her garments and stuffed the implement, handle first, into the waiting hand. He took the wand and returned to his desk where he secured it in the top desk drawer.

Draco sighed with relief. "Now you're making sense Granger."

"And just what duties would you have me perform?" she asked, vehemently.

"Your official duties? They'll be housekeeping duties, errands about the estate, dictation and stenography, things of that nature. That's what will go onto the report," he said, and laughed. "I think I'll enjoy taking the stuffing out of you Granger. And who knows, within time we may even become friends."

"Friends?" Her head shot up suspiciously and then fell back down.

"Yes friends," he repeated. "And look at me when I speak to you," he added and waved the termination order in her face.

She complied and looked coldly into the steel gray eyes.

"I hope you get used to looking at me Granger because I've saved your life. And you should be glad for that. Yes, I would think friendship would be a small payment."

Hermione stiffened at the implication.

"But what about Astoria? What would she think of this arrangement?"

Draco smiled unevenly. "Astoria and I were arranged to be married when we were very young. And I'm sure one day we will be. But for now, she's been sent away. Far away from the ravages of this war. And _Now_, I am without comfort," he went on and then waved his hand as if to dismiss the topic. "So lets get back to business; I have a war to finish, and you should be thinking about your own future Granger."

"My future? What future do I have now?"

"Who knows. Perhaps things will change. If you fulfill your duties here – perhaps, if the other side ever evens things out, then who knows. But for now you better make the best of it. It's a fair deal Granger. Your life for... well, whatever."

Hermione's gaze fell once more. She looked up with a look of solid conviction.

"I am thinking of my future, so go ahead and kill me. Do it now if you have the courage."

Like a smack across the face, the smirk grin quickly disappeared. He stood there for a moment frozen until a calm fell over him again.

"Have you any idea what you're saying? Don't be an idealistic fool Granger. This is a fair arrangement. There are people dying out there for no reason."

"While you sit here and draw from your trust fund," she snapped back.

Lighting quick, a hand came hard across her face. Hermione reeled from the slap and resumed a defiant posture.

"Damnit – I'm growing tired of your shite. I trying to help you G'damit."

"And why would you do that?"

"_Look_ at me," he ordered again and she did. "And stand up."

Hermione rose from the chair and then reached for the bag.

"Leave that," he ordered and looked over the witch like a hunter would look over the prize. He moved very close and guided her away from the chair and against the wall. With his left hand he held her shoulder against the wall and reached out with the right to cover and then knead her breast. Hermione grimaced and attempted to pull free but couldn't.

"After all these years Granger – you're still fit."

At that moment, he bent at the waist slightly and the hand left her chest and shot under her skirt.

"Stop," she pleaded.

"Hush," he barked back.

Slowly the hand worked it's way along the cool skin of her thigh and then upwards, where it was warmer. The hand was stopped by the crutch of her cotton pants. Angrily, he wrenched the strip of cotton aside and pressed further, stopping only when two fingers were inside of her.

Hermione stood there with eyes and mouth clinched shut, pulling a grimacing face. Just as quickly as it began it was over. Draco pulled his hand out from under her skirt and resumed a formal posture.

"_Now_ – do you still want to die? Is my touch so offensive you're willing to die?"

Hermione dipped her head but remained hush. The tears were streaming down her face.

"I thought so. There's too much fight in you Granger to just give up and die. But you know what this means. Don't you?" he demanded, and Hermione could only manage a single nod.

"Good, so you'll play along with this arrangement and stay alive. This is your ticket out of the war Granger. Your ticket to stay alive. And we _will_ become friends. You will repay my kindness in sparing your life. Alfred will see you to your quarters," he instructed and went for the door. The house-elf was still standing outside. She was almost through the door when he called.

"Granger."

She stopped and slowly turned to face the wizard.

"You may think yourself unlucky, but if you only knew how many wanted your death..."

Unwilling to bear more, the witch snapped around and stormed past the deer heads down the long corridor.

Waiting in the great hall for the house-elf to return, she overheard Draco mumble something to the elf. A few moments later the elf came around the corner and instructed her to follow. He then led her to another wing of the house. They stopped at a place she would come later to know as the northeast wing. It was a dark and disused portion of the mansion where the smell was musty and by the looks of things hadn't been used in many years.

The house-elf stopped by a heavy enameled door and then produced a large key from somewhere inside the pillowcase he was wearing. With some difficulty, the rusty lock finally turned over and the door opened with a squeal of protest. The house-elf took a candle sconce from a dugout in the wall and raised it above his head. Hermione could see a circular stone staircase continuing upwards to disappear in darkness.

"There is no railing so lean against the wall," cautioned the elf, without a trace of feeling.

Hermione did as the elf instructed but the heavy carpetbag tried several times to pull her balance away from the wall and into the dark abyss below. By the time they arrived at the top of the stairs her arm was aching from carrying the bag. Finally they arrived at the top and in front of a bare wooden door.

Once again the elf went through the same process with the same key and in moments Hermione was looking into the bleak room. A nearby oil lamp provided just enough light to see. The elf set the candle sconce in another cutout in the wall to provide barely adequate lighting.

The room was big enough for a house-elf she reasoned. There were eight walls and the shape was evenly octagonal. Along one side was a bunk just big enough for one. Opposite the bunk was a small writing table with a stack of parchment, ink, and a quill. A single chair was drawn up to a small window. A small coal burning stove was the only source of heat. Atop of it was a cast iron hob and a small metal bowl of soup of some kind.

"This is your room," the elf croaked. "The soup should still be warm. Would you fancy fresh bread?"

She had 'piss off' forming on her lips but for some reason the thought was rescinded. After all, she hadn't eaten all day and who knew how long it would be before the next meal.

"Yes, please," she heard herself say. The elf nodded and left the room. A latch from the other side fell closed to lock the door. Hermione looked over the simple apartment. The walls were of stone, rough cut and now wearing a thick coat of dust; the whole place seemed quite spartan. The bed sheets and heavy blanket looked fresh. The floors were not clean but looked as if they had been swept before she arrived. A dull tin chamber pot sat in the floor at the foot of the bed. Taking a closer look at the window revealed nothing. It was well after sunset and the night was already pitch black. There was nothing to see out the window except a small light far away in the darkness.

She heard the elf working the lock and heard the door squeal as he pulled it open. With a candle in one hand and a small platter in the other, he entered the room and set the platter on the small table.

"Be up and ready by tomorrow's light," he growled and pointed toward the window. Without another word he turned and left the room, repeating the whole process of locking the door from the outside.

Hermione took one look at the simple meal and collapsed on the edge of the small bed. She put her hands in her face and cried.


	2. The Northeast Wing

**I am no bird; and no net ensnares me: I am a free human being with an independent will.**

– **Charlotte Brontë**

**The Tower Window**

**2\. The Northeast Wing**

Barely sleeping, Hermione tossed and turned for most of the night. The wind howled past the tower and whistled through the cracks while the window rattled endlessly in the frame throughout the long night. The coal burning stove gave out long before morning and the cold hard mattress grew colder and harder before the morning sun. It was only after warming sunlight beamed through the window that she was able to uncoil from the fetal position and stretch out straight. Every muscle was cold and stiff. She tried to turn it off, but her mind had raced endlessly into the morning hours. Only when the nervous energy and adrenalin wore off did she collapse into a deep sleep.

She would soon find that every morning began with the same routine. They all commenced at first light with a rap on the door and then the sound of the latch beginning to lift. After squeaks and creaks of protest, the door would swing open. Daisy, a young female house-elf, would greet her with a garment folded across her arms and a pair of slippers dangling from her fingers.

"Is you awake miss? You best be up," she instructed in a throaty voice.

"Yes," Hermione managed, hoarsely.

When Hermione didn't get up the elf looked perturbed.

"Well, then get up..."

"Now? I'm not dressed."

"That don't matter none – you put these on," the she-elf instructed while offering the gown and slippers.

Hermione drug out of bed wearing just her underthings. She reached for the dressing gown, but the elf protested.

"Take them off – them too."

Hermione raised a brow suspiciously but was hardly in a mood to argue. With arms still stiff from the cold, she managed to get out of the bra and tossed it on the bed. Pulling the waistband down past her knees, she stepped out of the knickers Malfoy had almost wrenched apart. The cool morning air brought goose pimples to her skin. She yanked the gown out of the elf's arms, put it on and tied the belt snugly. Working her feet comfortably into the house slippers, she wondered who had guessed her size.

"Come with me," the elf instructed, before she could sit back down on the bed.

Following the house-elf down to a point roughly halfway along the stairs, they stopped at a door along the way, completely missed the night before. This door was not locked or the elf had a magical touch. Hermione couldn't tell which. They entered a dim narrow corridor on a lower level of the north-east wing. The corridor quickly opened up to a long and majestic hallway lined with tapestries, paintings, and decorations fashioned long ago. This corridor, like much of the disused wing had a closed in smell like fresh air had not passed through it for some time. They continued past several doors, most likely to bedroom chambers, and finally to the end of the grand corridor. They stopped at a door, and judging from fresh raw stone around the frame, it looked to be new construction. The elf pushed through the door to a large lavatory. Judging from the smell of cement, glue, and plaster, the bathing and shower facilities had been recently installed.

"These all, is new," the elf confirmed her suspicions. "But you can use them."

The house-elf led Hermione to a shiny black tiled shower stall and stopped there. She pointed to the stall she wanted her guest to use. Without hesitation and stripped of all privileges of modesty, Hermione pulled off the gown and handed them to the elf. She slipped out of the house shoes and into the shower and began to adjust the water while standing aside of the stream. Cold for only a few moments, the water began to warm up quickly. Very soon she was relaxing under a steaming hot flow. Gradually, sore muscles limbered up and she took a little extra time to eradicate all traces of the chill and the memories if the night.

Unlike the austere surrounding of her room, the shower had every amenity. There were scented soaps and oils, sprays and fragrances. She lingered for a moment while placing a few to her nose. She wondered why these things were placed here and whom they were for.

The elf shot her a perturbed expression, warning her to get on with it. She soaped down, carefully washing herself where Malfoy had gone exploring. Quickly rinsing off, she turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. The elf was waiting with a generous towel. Moments later, she was back to cold and welcomed the exchange the towel for the gown.

Feeling all dry and warm in the gown, she cinched the belt and got her feet off the icy tile floors and into the house slippers. Always in a hurry, the elf was off and leading them back up the steep spiral staircase to her room. With one quick glimpse around the room, Hermione immediately realized that her clothes and the carpet bag were gone. A mug of coffee and a small platter of teacakes were warming on the stove.

"Where the hell are my things?" she lamented, but the house-elf did not answer. Laid out on the bed was the uniform of a house servant.

"Put on these things," the she-elf instructed. Without further fuss, she slipped on the dark slip and black hosiery. Throwing the black frock over her head, she fashioned the white collar and cap without a mirror. The struggled into the shoes to complete the arrangement.

"Take a few minutes for the coffee and cakes," the elf croaked. "Someone will be up later to explain your duties. No need to rush," she said while pointing at the food.

As soon as the elf left, Hermione rushed to the window to look for the source of light visible on the previous night. Beyond the trees, stood a stone cottage. The tree-line partially obscured the cottage, and appeared to mark the boundaries of the estate. It stood there, and not much bigger than Hagrid's hut. There was no sign of activity around the cottage but it was a long way from the tower window. She would look for the light again tonight and many nights thereafter. Wiling away the time, she grabbed the mug of coffee and a teacake, and let her mind wander.

On the night before she managed to finish the meager victuals, hoping it would help her fall asleep but it didn't. There were too many details running through her head. Completely unknown to Malfoy, the surprise conviction was really no surprise at all and she had played her part well.

_I am thinking of my future, so go ahead and kill me. Do it now if you have the courage._

Yes, she had played that part very convincingly. But the truth lay around the fact that their side had spies in the Ministry and they had intercepted Malfoy's plans to intervene in her case. It was true, the Ministry wanted her execution and she had nearly gone into hiding before Malfoy's plans were detected. The Order was stymied by Malfoy's move and somewhat surprised to find that he'd been the one to intervene.

The best guess was that Malfoy figured her to be worth more alive than dead. Information of the war effort would be one thing he might be after. Information on the whereabouts of Harry and Ron would be another. Had Malfoy mastered Legilimency since leaving school? Choosing her thoughts carefully, she dared not dwell on the two people closest to her in all the world. It was her guess that Malfoy or someone else in the mansion would be trying to invade her mind for information. Despite his boasting, the war wasn't going quite as well for his side as he bragged.

But she was a prisoner, and Malfoy might keep her alive until her worth was extinguished and then give her back to the Ministry for execution. Her fate had been made perfectly clear. He intended to make her a sexual surrogate and she had agreed. But Malfoy had made a grave mistake – and that was making a deal with the enemy. Who was it that said – _never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake_.

Of course, if the future bride-to-be ever showed back up then the gig would be over. At that time Hermione would have to be eliminated to cover up this whole thing up. _Sorry my dear – that it has to end this way, but it's necessary you see, _she could hear Malfoy say the words. Then his wand would come out and one final smirk the Avada Kedavra. Well, hopefully she could kill him first, and now she had her chance.

She had no idea how to do it – without a wand – but there had to be a way. Harry had tried to talk her out of this assignment, but she had insisted. She had lost too many of her friends during the war, and the Malfoys were crucial to the Ministries' war effort. With Malfoy dead their side just might have a chance.

Suddenly a rap on the door snatched her from her thoughts.

She could hear the latch working from the outside and the door began to swing open. A polished black shoe appeared first from behind the door. It was the bastard. In a pretentious manner that was genuinely Malfoy he entered the small apartment and went for the chair by the window.

"Good morning," came the businesslike greeting.

Hermione nodded a milometer.

"I trust you're quite comfortable."

"Where are my things?"

"Your bag will be returned in time. You've no need for the clothes you came in with. You'll be provided habiliments appropriate for your duties and garments suitable for everything else."

Hermione raised an eye at the 'everything else'.

"The head house-elf will stop by shortly. He'll inform you of your duties," he spoke in a lazy tone while inspecting the walls as if for the first time. "This part of the mansion is very old. It goes back to days of Brutus Malfoy and beyond."

"It feels like it," she quipped and Draco returned an icy stare.

"Your creature comforts will be determined by your contributions, Granger. You'll begin in this tower and the food will be simple... you'll get better when you earn it."

Hermione looked away as if to squelch any more bitter outbursts.

"And while we're on the subject. I suppose you've noticed the quill and parchment?"

She nodded.

"I want you to begin writing. In your spare time," he added with a grin, "your involvements in the war."

"You can't ask that!"

"I can and will demand it. If you don't comply don't expect your living conditions to improve. I want a detailed outline of your involvement, beginning after the Battle of Hogwarts. Anything you can add to our understanding of the rebellion will improve your conditions here."

"Rebellion – are you deranged? This was no rebellion."

"I can assure you Granger, that no matter how noble you and your coterie feel about your efforts, it is classified, by the Ministry, as a rebellion."

"The Ministry is corrupt and you know it," she spat out the reply, venomously.

"That's your opinion Granger – and you see where it's gotten you. Now... your day will begin each and every day with the same routine. Daisy, whom you've already met, will accompany you to the showers every morning. You will be afforded a small breakfast, until you've earned better. Alfred, the head elf, will stop by later to get your work day started. Are there any questions?"

Hermione stared back, mutely.

Draco waited for a reply and then nodded when there was none.

"Good. I assume you understand then. Sorry, I have to be so formal this morning. One day soon, I'll stop by for a friendly visit."

Hermione snapped around at this comment. Fire poured from her eyes.

Draco rose from the chair and started toward the door.

"And Daisy will prepare you for that," he turned to say and then disappeared through the door.

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

The first days were long and the work was hard. The head house-elf stopped by after Malfoy's departure and led her to a room off the long wing that they had used while going to the showers. He was taller than most male house-elves and the dark blue pillowcase he was wearing was definitely of a finer quality afforded to any of the other elves. There at one of the old bedrooms along the wing, they met up with several female house-elves already working and struggling with the draperies along the tall windows. Once upon a time the royal blue draperies would have been beautiful. Now they were faded and tattered and almost falling apart with age.

"Help them with that," he instructed and left her to her on accord.

All the house-elves worked and communicated with an economy of words. Simple grunts, a yes or no, a 'do this' or 'do that', would be all you might hear during the day. Talking for the sake of entertainment was strictly forbidden while on the job. And what was the job? None of the elves could give her the big picture, but she surmised that the entire wing was being renovated for some reason. But whatever that reason it was entirely unknown to her.

There was one grumpy old female house-elf that appeared to be in charge of the work efforts. She would bark orders to subordinates who jumped to her command. She appeared to have a genuine hatred toward Hermione. There was little doubt that if Hermione failed to please the old elf then her creature comforts as Malfoy refereed to it, would suffer in return. This theory was proved out on the very first day. Two young female house-elves were struggling to remove a long and heavy drapery. Hermione being the tallest was ordered to assist in the lowering. It seemed like she was always called in when her added reach was required. Clumsily, she stepped on the section lying an the floor and ripped apart a foot long gash. One of the young elves let out a cry and older house-elf came running over to see what was the matter.

"You'll pay for that, you will. No supper for you tonight," she growled in a croaky voice. "No supper for you atall," she continued as she examined the damage.

"But it was old and falling apart anyway," Hermione protested.

"One more word and you'll get no breakfast," the she-elf bellowed while pointing a gnarly finger.

The day's work ended well after dark, and once again Hermione was led to her room. When she got there the room was cold and barely lit. When the latch fell shut she was locked in and hopefully alone for the night. She locked the inner latch as well and returned to the stove. The hob was bare and there was no fire in the stove at all, and no coal scuttle or any way for her to start one. So the old house-elf had made her pay with a little extra thrown in for good measure. So, it would be no heat and no food. The clouds had disappeared and the inky sky was cluttered with stars. It would get cold, very cold, tonight. Luckily her carpetbag had been returned during the day. Apparently Malfoy had searched it for any items that he might consider offensive. He had left a small package of biscuits alone and untouched. That would be her supper tonight.

Dragging the chair in front of he window, she wrapped herself up with the blanket. Sipping the water and letting the small bites of the biscuits melt in her mouth, she studied the dim light of the stone cottage until it was extinguished in the wee morning hours.

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A/N: A big thanks for reading... and thanks so much for comments from annaea3077, lalyta8, and ladymagna1100 and to all those who followed and faved.


	3. A Necessary Evil

**'Her body consented willingly to all that her soul found most abhorrent.'**

– **Anya Seton, Dragonwyck**

**The Tower Window**

**3\. A Necessary Evil**

The night had been as miserable as any Hermione could remember. The room had been so cold Hermione curled into a fetal position and wrapped the blanket double around her in a cocoon like fashion. Breathing inside the cocoon she used her own breath to provide additional warmth. There was a time, shortly before morning light when she feared she might die from hypothermia. Shaking uncontrollably from the cold, she welcomed Daisy's rap on the door.

"Is you ready miss?" asked Daisy, and Hermione struggled up.

"I'm freezing cold," replied Hermione, unrolling from the blanket and struggling to the door.

"I'm sorry miss," Daisy said and closing the door. "But you can never talk back to Griselda. You must never talk back. If you get inna fix again I'll try to help – but you must never let her know – you must never let Griselda know."

"I won't Daisy – and thanks."

"Now get outta them clothes and into your gown. It's time for your shower."

Still suffering from the cold, Hermione forced herself to strip naked and wrap up in the thin gown. Still shaking, the treacherous spiral stairs were especially difficult to negotiate. Daisy led the way to the showers where she finally stopped shaking in the steaming hot water. Daisy allowed her to bask for a few minutes extra this morning.

"That's enough miss," daisy cautioned. "We has to be getting back."

Her skin now red from the heat, she toweled off the water and let her skin cool to moderate temperatures before climbing into the gown. Daisy was growing impatient as they started back for her room. Apparently all the house-elves were terrified by Griselda.

The stove was already lit and providing warmth when they returned. A heavy mug of coffee and small bowl of soup with bread were sitting atop the stove and smelling wonderful. Her day's uniform of black hosiery, white collar and cap, and black frock were sitting on the bed. She reached for the bread but Daisy interrupted.

"You gets dressed first," ordered the elf.

She nodded and did as instructed and dressed hastily without a word. Only when she looked the part of a house servant did the house-elf nod once and then leave the room. She tore into the soup and bread and chased it with gulps of scalding hot coffee.

She took the simple meal and coffee to the chair by the window. She would study the cottage every spare minute she had, and she would go on studying it day and night until some kind of clue was unveiled. And Malfoy: when would he show up to demand his prize? The odds weren't too good she'd ever find a way to dispose of him by magic since it wasn't too likely she'd find a convenient wand laying around. She was being watched every minute of the day and sneaking back into Malfoy's study to retrieve her own wand would be quite impossible for the time being. No, it would have to be something plain and simple. A sharp instrument would be the easiest to acquire.

Another rap on the door and the latch turning from the outside. The head house-elf was standing there and wielding a cane on this crisp morning.

"Come along." The head house-elf never being one to mix words.

She followed the elf down the staircase and along the busy corridor. Several elves in the hallway stopped and bowed to the head elf before resuming their labors. They passed by several open doors where house elves were busy with renovating rooms. There were labors of all sorts from pulling up carpets, stripping wood floors, painting and plastering. They stopped at the room Hermione had worked the day before. The draperies had all been removed and elves were working from ladders and stripping old wall paper. Observing the elves progress, Griselda immediately snapped around to take sight of her standing in the doorway.

"Over here," she barked in a croaky voice. "You're late."

Making no sound in her defense Hermione nodded, not daring to provoke the ire of the elf again; she hustled to the spot.

"Help these two," the elf croaked, and when she was satisfied Hermione was working she wandered off to another job.

All day they stripped wallpaper until the walls were barren and the color of bone. After all the paper was peeled away they sanded and smoothed the bare walls to prep them for a new covering.

After pissing off Griselda and going without meals on her first day, Hermione was invited to join the other elves out in the corridor for a short lunch break. The all sat on the floor and leaned against the wall while another elf brought in sandwiches and tea. All the elves wore grungy pillowcases and didn't object to sitting on the floor. Hermione, worried that she might be scolded for letting the frock get dusty, chose to stand instead. Twinkie, a house-elf that worked in Hermione's group was becoming quite friendly and produced a small towel for Hermione to sit on.

"Thank you Twinkie," said Hermione and smiled kindly at the elf.

Twinkie nodded and smiled back but didn't reply. Apparently all the elves were so accustomed to not speaking on the job that their silence carried on into their private hours as well

"Have you been working here long?" Hermione asked, trying to draw the elf out.

The elf looked around before speaking. "Two years here – it's been two years Miss."

"You came from another house then?"

The elf nodded but stopped when uneven footsteps could be heard entering the corridor. It was the head male house-elf. Hermione wasn't sure about his name but thought Malfoy had referred to him as Alfred. He took a hard look at Hermione before passing on to find Griselda. Almost all of the house-elves looked at her like she was a two-headed kitten. It seemed Hermione would be destined to draw a lot of attention, one way or the other.

Picking themselves off the floor, the scant meal was finished and it was time to go back to work. Hermione followed Twinkie into the room where a couple of others were already busy at work, cleaning and scraping the wall of all traces of paper.

She often tried to look out the huge uncovered windows without being noticed. She needed to get familiar with the grounds outside the mansion. If her plans were found out, or if she failed, she would have to escape, and to do that she'd have to know the grounds backwards and forwards.

From this vantage point they appeared to be on the second level and overlooking a vast garden to the east of her tower window. She wondered if the small stone cottage would still be visible but she couldn't linger at the window long enough to find out.

She had been scraping the wall free of old cement and paper when she was struck by the obvious. The tool she was using was a flat bladed device that somewhat resembled a trowel and small enough for an elf to use. If ground down and sharpened toward the tip, it would make an excellent weapon.

She toyed with the notion, for the longest time, on how she could hide the tool in her clothing at the end of the day. Would they – could they – catch her. Would they inventory tool box and come looking for it? She remembered how cold and hungry she was the night before and reasoned the plan could wait until another day. There was no way she could manage another night like the one before. So at the end of another long day, Hermione looked hard at the putty knife but left it in the toolbox.

With a signal from Griselda the group all quit work without a moment's delay. They hung out for a few moments in the long corridor as small groups began to peel off and disappear into their respective places. Hermione waited for a few minutes for Daisy, but the little house-elf was nowhere in sight. As if she were at fault, Griselda and the head house-elf took notice and glared repugnantly. Tension building, Daisy finally came breezing around the corner.

Griselda and Alfred scowled as if a golden opportunity for punishment had slipped away. For once, Hermione was glad to be back into the tiny room. The coal burning stove was lit and giving off a fair amount of heat. A small coal scuttle was beside the stove with enough extra fuel for the night.

Hermione said goodnight to Daisy and fell into her bunk. There was some food and drink on the hob but she would need a few minutes to rest before taking a meal.

Hermione lay back and reflected on the mess she was in. Already, and only after just a couple days, the reality of the situation was beginning to sink in. And it felt like hopelessness. She was careful not to think of Ron or Harry in any way that might reveal information on their whereabouts, in case anyone in the mansion was capable of reading minds. When she did think of them it was of better times before the war or of the special memories that couldn't wander into harms way.

After the Battle of Hogwarts, she and Ron began seeing each other until no longer capable of being apart. It wasn't long after when the two of them rented a small room in Hogsmeade on a wonderful snowy weekend. They found a cozy room with a generous fireplace and gave themselves to one another, all weekend. She remembered the sweet memories and the warm tender moments. He had been her first true love – her first real love as a woman would love, and she thought the love would last forever, but it didn't. But that hardly mattered now. The sweet memories were all that mattered now.

The rain that looked so sure early that morning finally began to fall. She got up to peep out the window but could see nothing but the wet blackness beyond. Not even the light from the stone cottage shone through the deluge. She dipped the bread in the tin cup of soup until soft enough to eat. She drank the coffee and then the soup when it cooled enough to do so.

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

The next morning began as a carbon copy of the first with Daisy rapping on the door and then unlatching the latch. She stripped out of her underthings and traded her old clothes for a fresh gown that Daisy was carrying across her arms.

"Another day, hey Daisy."

"Oh yes Miss. They'll always be another day. Don't you fret about that."

Hermione smiled politely but thought the comment was overly optimistic. They proceeded on to the showers where Hermione stood under the hot torrent until she felt relaxed and limber. Finally Daisy coaxed her out, and feeling much better than the day before, the two of them headed back to her room.

"You is very beautiful this morning," was the second strange thing out of Daisy's mouth. Once she re-entered her room the reason for the puzzling comments lay on the bunk before her. There was a hairbrush and a mirror. Stretched out on the bed was a long sheer negligee with a matching bra and knickers. The whole thing was as wispy as a cloud and completely see through except for little black lace roses that were scattered over the garment. At the foot of the bed lay a pair of black satin strapped sandals with a short heel.

Hermione grimaced at the raunchy kit, too stunned to speak.

"The Master..." muttered Daisy.

"I know," Hermione quickly injected. "And I won't wear it," she said, standing firmly and cinching the belt on the dressing gown defensively.

"You must Miss – you must."

"I won't – I can't," she said with defiance.

"Miss – what's gonna happen is gonna happen. But if you don't dress nice it will get bad for you – it may get bad for Daisy too," the house-elf argued.

Hermione looked down at Daisy and the large pleading eyes. The little house elf was the only friend in her life at the moment.

"Okay Daisy, I'll put it on... For you."

And with that, Hermione flung off the dressing gown and wriggled into the delicate knickers and bra. The matching long skimpy gown went on next. It had an elastic cord that fastened around the waist. She slipped into the sandals and took a look at her bushy hair in the mirror.

"Do I look like a tart now?" Hermione asked.

"You are very pretty miss – very pretty."

"So when does our guest arrive," she asked, already feeling tight in the chest and her breath going short.

"You look pretty Miss. You really do," Daisy added with a forbidden smile and left.

For a few moments Hermione paced back and forth across the small quarters. She could feel herself growing angry at her predicament and finally sat down on the edge of the bed to reason things through.

She had promised herself she wouldn't get pissed. Besides, her situation here today was, after all, a _fait accompli,_ and she was playing a part in a much larger game. A game that might just win the war if she could pull it off. When the time came, she would be businesslike and consensual. And to get her mind off what was soon to follow, she reminisced about sweeter times.

Her and Ron's love had burned brightly until things grew sour and then burned out. When the Battle of Hogwarts failed to end the war, the battles and the killing seemed to go on forever. Facing death every day, and with Ron gone much of the time they agreed to end the relationship. But it had been more Ron than her and she knew it, and it still hurt. Not very much these days – but sometimes late at night, in a cold bed alone, she remembered and it hurt.

After that, Ron went on to see others, when convenient, and so did she. With a desire to get even, and a need to get Ron out of her mind, she went to bed with several wizards. They were just young kids mostly, fighting in a war they might die in any day. She laughed at one who'd never been with a girl and thanked her when it was over. She really didn't love any of them although she became quite fond of the last one.

But the war drug on and everyone's life seemed to change in one way or another. Her days seemed grayer now and love was something that had happened a long time ago in another life.

Reminiscing of the past, she had almost forgot about Malfoy when the latch could be heard to open from the other side. With that the door opened with a slight squealing protest from the hinges, and the cocky bastard stepped into the tiny room. He was wearing slippers and a silver gray dressing gown.

He was calm but not as full of himself as usual; he wasted no time in getting to business.

"First times are never very good Granger and I doubt this one will be any different." he said and paused to look her over. His eyes appeared to burn through the sheer negligee and he smiled. Wearing it had been no idea of her own but it was like a big 'yes' coming out of her lips, and he appeared overly confident. Hermione looked up from the edge of the bed, lacking emotion of any kind. She was a little nervous and she tried to hide it but the blood had gone away from her skin and the goose pimples betrayed her anxiety.

"So... let's just get on with it Granger – shall we?"

Malfoy then motioned for her to stand and she did, robotically. He looked her over from a different angle and began to rub and feel her through the sheer slick fabric. He rubbed her breasts and tweaked her nipples through the material until they began to firm. She showed no more emotion than if was another day at the grocer. He then slid his hands to her waist and finally down along the back of her arse to squeeze her bum. He unfastened the cord around her waist and removed her gown by sliding it off her shoulders and onto the floor. Methodically, he reached around her to unfasten her bra clasp. With an end in each hand he pulled them toward him until the whole works fell off her shoulders.

Pausing to look over and admire his prize, he pushed her back down on the edge of the bed and removed his own gown. With him right in her face, Hermione couldn't help but look and her heart skipped a beat. She'd been hoping he was a twinkie, but he was anything but. All her life she had thought of Draco as a scrawny git but what hung between his legs truly qualified him as a man, if only in the physical sense.

Her eyes returned to his slowly and without a trace of emotion.

"Lay back," he said and guided to her lay back. She kicked off the shoes and leaned back on the bed. He reached up to grab the waistband of the skimpy pants and began to pull. She lifted her butt and then legs as he slid off the pants and tossed them backwards in the floor. She misunderstood his intentions, thinking he meant to take her right there, and spread her legs. Draco's eyes were hot and glued to the prize. Thinking her ready and in no mood to tarry, he bent over her to go for it. He struggled awkwardly but Hermione obviously wasn't ready.

Clumsily, he continued jamming and poking with only painful results. Frustrated, he poked and shoved harder with still no success. At first Hermione enjoyed watching the bastard's frustration, but then her thoughts became deadly pragmatical.

_Hermione, this has to happen and you know it. If it doesn't, you'll be back at the Ministry and dead in a couple of days while Malfoy is alive and well and financing the war effort to kill your friends, so help the poor bastard._

Finally, Hermione put her hands on his chest and pushed.

"Stop – you're taking the skin off," she protested. Had the man never been with a woman before?

She reached down and placed her right hand around him, and with proper guiding, patience, and a magic touch he was soon knocking on heaven's door.

"Okay," she muttered so quietly you could barely hear it.

Obviously, Malfoy's initial attempts were too eager and amateurish but his mood and determination weren't in the least bit subdued. More confident now, he collected his wits and fell into a long slow pace and began making a surprisingly good show of himself. With a steadfast determination to be unresponsive, Hermione was shocked and then embarrassed that her body began reacting against her will. She turned her face away to hide her embarrassment along with any other involuntary reactions. Proud of himself that he'd made her wet, Malfoy moaned in relief as he was able to freely piston the witch. Losing himself to his passions, Malfoy was driving the witch into the headboard until she had to reach up and push away from the bars. She arched her back as she pushed and her breasts rose higher and nipples pointed heavenward, fully erect. This only worked to elevate the wizard's arousal and he quickened, moaned, and then cried out. With one final deep thrust, she felt the wizard's explosion deep inside of her and then all was still.

After an uncaring and unfeeling pause he yanked out, causing her to wince. He rolled over to edge of the narrow bed.

"That was pretty good Granger. Yeah, very good indeed."

Draco lay there for a few moments, admiring her taut and lean body, just long enough to get his breath. He then jumped up and grabbed the gown out of the floor and quickly wrapped and cinched the belt. Looking around for his shoes, he quickly found them and immediately left the room without another word.

Hermione lay back on the bed, naked and with the covers kicked onto the floor she looked up at the ceiling trying to make sense of the situation. She lay there for the longest time until the growing wet spot made it uncomfortable.

._...ooo0O0ooo..._

Draco, doing all in his power to maintain his detached and cool demeanor, returned the latch to the locked position with shaking fingers. Weak in the knees he barely managed the long stairwell back down to the ground floor. His head was still swirling with the thoughts of what had just taken place. All his life he had fantasized about getting Granger on her back and now he'd done so. And she had been so incredibly fit and wonderfully tight. It had been like screwing an angel. Reminiscing and relaxing in his study, the slapping of house-elf feet were trudging down the corridor.

The head house-elf stuck his head in inquiringly.

"All is well master?"

"Yes," Draco said, his head coming out of the dream. "Draw some water for a bath... oh, and give our house guest a full supper tonight."

The old elf nodded with a smile. "Yes master – of course."

:

Minutes after Draco had left, Daisy returned to Hermione's room with a fresh dressing gown and led her off to the showers. She was given instructions to take the morning off and to return to her duties after lunch. Most of the house-elves were working in the rooms and didn't notice her and Daisy going to the showers for a second time. A few did notice however and snickered and whispered to themselves. For the second time on this day Hermione enjoyed a hot shower. When they returned to her room there was a new work frock on the fresh made bunk. A lunch of soup and sandwiches were on the hob and cold pumpkin juice was on the small table.

For the rest of the morning Hermione studied the stone cottage for any clues or signs of activity but found none. Eventually Daisy returned and saw her back to work. Griselda watched her like a hawk but at the end of another long day the old hag wandered off to scold a young house-elf. Steadfast in her mind and with a hatred of Malfoy made fresh, Hermione waited for Twinkie to look away and quickly reached for the putty knife. Carefully, so as not to give away her actions with any rattling or noises she grabbed the knife and slipped it inside the frock where it came to rest inside the waistband.

With her hand against her waistband, she waited for her escort back to her room. Once again Alfred and Griselda paused to study her in the corridor but she didn't dare look them in the eye. She was so afraid her gaze might give away the theft.

They were interrupted by Daisy hurrying down the corridor. Within minutes they were back at the door to Hermione's room. Daisy opened the door and said goodnight. Hermione was shocked by the banquet laid before her. There was roast chicken, and potatoes, a basket of bread with pumpkin juice and a small glass of wine.

Well... Malfoy must have been satisfied, she thought and almost laughed. Now, she knew the secret to getting a decent meal when she needed one. But first, it was critical that she hide the knife. They might discover it missing any minute and come looking for it.

There was a stove pipe from the coal burning stove that ran up and then curved into an opening in the stone wall. There was a circular flange around the pipe that was pushed snugly against the wall to keep out the weather. Hermione drug the chair up to the spot where the pipe disappeared into the wall. Getting up and onto the chair, she still had to get on her tip-toes to reach the flange. At first it wouldn't budge but after turning and twisting it finally came loose. The hole in the wall around the pipe was loose and jaggedly cut. She found just enough room for the knife and shoved it in the space. She then twisted, turned, and pushed the flange until it was back in it's original position.

Moving the chair back to the window, she watched the dim light of the cottage while enjoying the evening meal.

* * *

**A/N**: Sorry, it took a little more time on this one, but had to ruminate a bit before pulling the trigger. Much more of Hermione's back story in this installment.

Thanks so much for reading and _multo gratias _for the comments from marianna79, phoenixtearsandfeathers, ladymagna1100, and to all those who followed or faved.


	4. Griselda's Ire

:

**'There are few things I hate more than feeling weak. Needing help or failing top the list. The worst, however, is knowing that all three just happened.'  
― Christine Fonseca**

**The Tower Window**

**4\. Griselda's Ire**

With the putty knife safely hidden away, Hermione ate her evening meal by the window and watched for signs of activity well into the night. Once, it looked like the door of the cottage opened but it happened so briefly and it was so late, she couldn't be sure. But with curiosity and renewed hope she stayed fixed by the window until the wee morning hours, looking for any sign or clue. When the lights of the cottage finally went out, she turned in for the night and fell into a deep sleep.

The following morning came all too early and all too rude. With a hard rap on the door, it was quickly unlatched from the outside and was kicked open. Standing in the doorway was the head house-elf and the always grumpy Griselda. They stood there menacingly for a few moments.

"Out!" shouted the head elf and Hermione began to rise, fastening her loose fitting night dress.

"Hurry," he barked.

"What's going on?" protested Hermione.

"Something has been taken," bellowed Griselda.

"What? What's been taken?" Hermione asked, playing the innocent most convincingly.

"Get out," barked Griselda. "Daisy will get you ready."

Hermione left the room to hear the door slam shut behind her. She negotiated barefoot the cold stone stairway to the first level under the tower. The scant nightdress was inadequate protection from the morning chill. Pausing in the corridor leading to the showers, the slapping of elf feet could be heard coming her way.

"Come along Miss," said Daisy, emerging from around the corner.

Without another word, Daisy accompanied Hermione to the shower where she eagerly peeled out of the nightdress and into the warm water. Daisy never mentioned what Griselda and the head elf were looking for. But it was so unlike the house-elves to speak about such things unless questioned. Hermione did her best to enjoy the hot water but inside her stomach was turning nervous flips.

"We better go Miss," instructed Daisy. "Alfred and Griselda are in some kind of mood."

"Do you know what they're looking for?" Hermione asked coyly while toweling off.

Daisy shook her head abruptly but said nothing. She handed Hermione a dressing gown and slippers.

"Your clothes – they're in a room at the end of the corridor," she said and pattered off in the lead.

Hermione followed Daisy toward a window at the end of the long corridor. Passing the last bedroom door they entered an opening and made a U turn to a hidden service door. Inside, the service room was filled with old furniture and cleaning utensils. Laying across an old settee were Hermione's work frock, hosiery, and shoes.

No doubt nervous, Daisy kept looking back toward the door as Hermione did her best to dress quickly. The little house-elf was still mute on the subject of Alfred and Griselda's visit. Daisy almost frantic to go, twitched nervously; Hermione busily looked around for the cotton knickers but didn't find them. She felt an airy draft and half dressed as the final touches to the white cap were complete. With a final adjustment to the frock, the pair made their way out of the service room and back down the long corridor. All the house-elves were gathering for last minute instructions before beginning the day's labor.

The female elves were whispering something unintelligible, and no doubt wondering why Griselda was not there to get them started. Even a minute's tarry was something the elves never indulged in unless specifically given permission. Already some were growing nervous.

At last, the squeaking door from the tower could be heard to open and the sound of slapping elf feet grew louder. Alfred turned the corner with Griselda in tow. The she-elf was wearing a frightful expression. In that instant Hermione's heart seemed to stop. Had they found the knife? Could house-elves manage the Accio charm? Even if they could, she doubted the charm would have enough force to extract the knife, tightly wedged between the pipe and the wall and behind the protective flange. Perhaps it would shake and rattle and divulge it's presence.

Without a clue or expression, Griselda showed the house-elves into their respective rooms and then turned toward Hermione.

"You stay here," she said while pointing a gnarly finger. Griselda stood there with hands on her hips, daring Hermione not to comply. Alfred, content the elves were getting along, joined Griselda to stare at Hermione with a stern look.

"Where's the knife?" he began.

"What knife – I don't know what you're talking about."

"YOU LIE," trumpeted Griselda. Alfred took a threatening step toward her.

"No," insisted Hermione, taking a step backwards into the wall.

"Tell us, or you'll be punished," barked Alfred.

"I can't tell you – because I didn't take it."

Alfred and Griselda looked toward one another while pausing to consider their next action. As if reading each others mind, Griselda spoke first.

"Come with me," she instructed, and turned toward the room Hermione and Daisy had just left. At first Alfred didn't follow, but the she-elf shot back a dirty look and he quickly took the hint.

"Guard the door," she said to Alfred and the two females entered the utility room together. Hermione stood there helplessly while Griselda prowled around the room looking for the something. Hermione guessed the elf was searching for the proper device to administer punishment. Finally she found a long thin cane in a barrel of implements and pulled it out threateningly. The cane was long enough to stand chest high to Griselda.

The she-elf wrapped her gnarly fingers around he cane as if preparing to swing it.

"Bend over the couch," she barked.

"To hell with you," Hermione fired back.

The she-elf pulled an angry and gruesome face.

"You'll do as I say or the punishment will be much worse."

Still Hermione stood her ground without moving. At this bit of insolence, Griselda extended a bare palm and shot a curse toward Hermione that flung her off her feet and threw her against the wall. In a flash the elf was standing over her threatening to apply the cane to her head.

"You'll bend over the couch or it'll be that pretty face. You be the judge."

When Hermione didn't move the angry elf made a quick swat with the stick across her face. Hermione reeled from the blow as Griselda was preparing another swing.

"Okay – Okay," Hermione acquiesced, feeling along the side of her cheek for blood. Dazed, she drug to her feet.

"Across the settee," Griselda instructed by pointing with the cane and this time Hermione reluctantly complied. With Hermione draped by the waist over the back of the settee, Griselda took a position in order to freely swing the cane.

"Pull up your skirt," she barked.

When Hermione didn't comply Griselda began to tug the whole works off her.

"Okay," Hermione complied, not wishing to go all day in a torn skirt and no pants. She pulled the skirt over her waist and Griselda immediately applied the cane to Hermione's backside with a loud smack. Hermione tried not to cry out and for the most part managed to squelch the scream. With a fury rarely found in elves, Griselda continued to apply the cane across the buttocks and the backs of Hermione's legs. The flesh jumped and large red welts began to form in long red streaks. In a few places the skin was broken and droplets of blood began to contrast against the white flesh of bare legs. Unable to hold back the pain Hermione was screaming now with every slap of the cane. Unable to bear the abuse anymore Hermione jumped away from the couch and began for the door. Once more Griselda applied a spell of wandless magic to knock Hermione off her feet. In a split second the egregious house-elf was over her and threatening another shot to the face.

"Stop it," Hermione screamed with her arm in front of her face.

Suddenly the door was thrown open before Griselda could land the blow.

"What's going on here?"

Hermione's face was hidden behind her hands.

"Punishment Master," came back Griselda in a voice far softer from what Hermione was used to hearing. Pulling hands away from her eyes, Draco was towering over the house-elf with a stern expression.

"_Punishment?_ For what?"

"The witch stole a putty knife," she said while swelling pride and satisfaction.

"I didn't steal anything," Hermione fired back.

"Oh, I see," Draco said to Griselda. "Are you done here, or do you need to beat her some more – I have some questions about the color swatches."

Flattered by her Masters attention, Griselda blushed and quickly dropped the cane.

"I'll help," she said with a smile, and paying no more attention to Hermione they disappeared down the corridor, chatting about the colors.

Hermione drug herself off the floor and did her best to adjust her disheveled garments. The streaks of blood, she wiped away with the hem of her skirt. The welts along her flanks were beginning to throb. Taking a deep breath and straightening her posture, the bushy headed witch did her best to regain her dignity and left the room.

There was no sign of Griselda, or Draco, or any of the elves. They were all busy inside the rooms. Wondering about her next move, Daisy came running up to assist her.

"You is to follow me Miss," she said.

They slipped unnoticed past the rooms being refurbished, moving quietly toward the end of the corridor, quickly through the door leading to the tower stairs. The back of Hermione's legs were burning from the bleeding welts.

Leaning on the tower wall as the head house-elf had cautioned her, Hermione negotiated the stairs with bleeding, shaky legs. Daisy extracted a key from somewhere within her garments and unlocked the latch.

Standing a full head and a half above the elf, Hermione saw in the same instant as Daisy the destruction of Hermione's room. Everything, including the stove and bed, was taken apart and laying in pieces on the floor. The desk and her carpet bag had also been ransacked.

"This room is a mess. Daisy will fix." Daisy waved her hand to execute a form of House-elf magic. The bed frame slowly began to reassemble itself, followed by the correct placement of the mattress, pillow, and bedsheets.

"That's handy."

Daisy smiled then took a look at the stove; she shook her head and stopped short of attempting magic.

"You get out of them clothes and lay down Miss. Daisy will be back to dress those cuts." The elf quickly scampered out.

Humbled and now devoid of pride, Hermione did as Daisy asked. She stripped out of the black habiliments of a house maiden and let them fall to the floor. Pulling off the ridiculous white cap, it too was tossed atop the ebony pile of clothes. She kicked off the shoes and began to peel off the hosiery that was stuck to the back of her legs. Most of her injuries were above her hosiery, on the backs of her thighs and bum, but a few cuts were under her hosiery and were now scabbed over with dried blood.

Grimacing as she pulled off the scabs and the hose together, Daisy trotted back into the room carrying a jar and clean rags.

"You lay down Miss – Daisy has essence of Dittany."

Hermione smiled and lay flat on her stomach and prepared for the pain. Essence of Dittany was a powerful healing poultice but not without a price. Naked and with the stove out, Hermione was already cold and covered with goose-pimples. The Dittany would make that much worse.

As Daisy applied the poultice with a rag, the sensation of skin being magically repaired felt like jagged shards of ice being dragged across her. Carefully and with deliberation Daisy mopped away the blood and broken skin with the essence of Dittany. After the first pass Hermione was shaking from the cold.

"That's enough Daisy – I'll be fine," protested Hermione.

"Oh no, Miss. Is you cold?"

"I'm freezing."

"I'll get you a blanket."

Daisy dug the blanket from out from under the desk and pieces of the stove. Laying the blanket over her back, she left Hermione's buttocks and legs exposed for more treatment.

"You needs to be beautiful and one more treatment will make your skin smooth as a baby's bottom."

"It might be best not to do me any favors Daisy."

"You don't mean that Miss. You is upset – that's all."

Carefully, Daisy applied the Dittany repeatedly until all the cuts and welts were healed and smoothed away. She motioned for Hermione to roll over and with a few more dabs to the face, the mark of the cane slap was also gone.

"There... good as new."

"You're too kind Daisy." Hermione and sat up while wrapping herself with the blanket. She looked over the humble room to see it for the mess it truly was.

"What are we going to do about this?" she asked. "And what am I to wear?"

"I have something different today," Daisy said, rolling her huge glassy eyes. She ran off only to return a few minutes later with an armload of clothes. She lay a fresh pair of jeans with a thin cardigan on the bed. She lay a pair of ballet flats at the foot of the bed. There was still no trace of innerwear.

Hermione looked at her suspiciously. "This different. What's the occasion."

"I don't know Miss – it's what was left out for you this morning."

"Left out – who left it out Daisy?"

"Don't know Miss – Daisy never does. The clothes are left on the table in that room. You know..."

"Yeah, I know the room. So you have no idea then?"

"No mam. No idea at all."

Without further questioning, Hermione struggled with the jeans that were skin tight. She threw on the cardigan and the ballet flats fit perfectly. With a display of sheepish insecurity, Daisy excused herself and ran off to attend to other duties.

Fearing, that reconstruction of the stove might jar loose the last remaining section of stove pipe, she began to gather the remaining pieces herself and lay them in a convenient pile. Struggling to set the base of the stove in it's original footprint, she began to work up from there until the whole thing was basically re-assembled. Standing on the chair, she refastened the last section of pipe until the thing was more or less in a workable state. Only a coal scuttle would be needed to provide the final test.

Her movements made difficult by overly snug jeans, she was hit by the thought that they would have been a good fit a year ago. Yes, it had been a year ago when an important change occurred in her life. The war had been dragging on for some time. After the breakup with Ron and the loss of several close friends she had become very depressed. Depressed to the point she didn't feel like going on, she found herself tired all the time.

So, on the advice of a friend, she dressed incognito and ventured into the bowels of Muggle London. The walks were a pleasant diversion far from the realities of their magical war. It wasn't long before curiosity lead her to a health club. She had known of these things and after a quick tour she joined. For a couple hours, every day that she could spare, she worked out in the club. It turned out to be a pleasurable escape from the realities of the war. Thirty minutes on an elliptical trainer, followed by workouts on weight machines and sauna baths. She had no desire to build up physically, but her legs and derriere responded anyway. Withing a few months her thin straight shape morphed into something more curved and full.

Soon the ravages of the war seemed manageable. Most of the young Aurors began to notice the difference, and her spirits soon returned. With new vigor, she re-entered the Order as an effective team member. It wasn't long after this time that she was approached by Harry with a mission...

Her reminiscing thoughts were interrupted by a loud rap on the door. Whoever the caller, they waited politely for her to unlatch the door rather than use the key. The caller turned out to be the house-elf who had greeted her at the door the first night she arrived.

"Can I help you," she asked curiously.

"Follow me Miss."

Hermione shrugged indifferently and complied with elf. Usually working the lower floors, the polite elf led her to the ground floor and then through the deer-head corridor until they stood outside the door to Draco's study.

The elf knocked on the door and announced the two of them.

"Show her in," came the muffled reply.

The elf reached for the door, and Hermione studied the lock with the few precious moments she had before she stood facing Draco Malfoy.

"Have a seat Granger," he said, pointing to a chair adjacent to the huge desk. "Hope you haven't suffered too badly from Griselda's notions of discipline," he continued with a wry grin.

"Considering this place – I'd say it fits right in," she spat.

"_This place_ as you call it – is what you make of it. I trust Daisy was able to make sure there's no lasting effects?"

Hermione nodded for Daisy's sake.

"Good," he replied and grinned devilishly. "– would hate to have that smooth silky skin scarred or blemished."

Hermione sat cold as a stone.

"But back to business," he said and corrected his posture. "We've noticed you haven't written anything on the war as we asked you to... asked you _nicely_."

"Haven't felt like it."

"You haven't felt like it," he repeated. "Well, if you would make a show of helping me then I could help you."

"Is that how it works," she said, caustically.

"Of course. If you would help me then I could personally guarantee Griselda will never abuse you again. But instead, you're making it harder on yourself."

"So I've got to fuck you _and_ help you? What more do you want?"

A bitter pause followed.

"Let's be a little more specific," he replied. "That first matter was an agreement between us to spare you from the Ministry. It had nothing to do with your work requirements here. We all have our duties Granger."

"Yeah, and what are yours?" she injected.

"More than you could imagine – but this discussion is not about me. You have not been writing in your journal. That needs to be corrected. Now this business with Griselda. I might have known you'd find a way to raise the elf's ire. And I hope you didn't actually take the putty knife. I can't imagine what you'd use it for..."

"I didn't."

"...it's of little matter. Until Griselda cools off you'll be doing some work for me. She's under quite a bit of pressure to get this project finished so your absence will be missed. That should soften her up a bit."

"What kind of work?"

"Writing. I have a good deal of correspondence that needs tending. And quite frankly I don't have the hand for it."

Rising from the desk, Draco sauntered around the huge affair and stood towering over Hermione.

"That'll be all for now. Straighten your room and be back after lunch."

Hermione remained still for a moment as if it pained her taking orders from Malfoy. He reached out to run his fingers through the ends of her bushy hair. With that, she jumped up and moved out of reach.

"The clothes – how do they fit?"

"The jeans are a little tight – who guessed the size?"

Draco smiled. He canted his head a little while examining the fit.

"They look pretty good from here Granger."

"_Thanks_," she replied with thick sarcasm.

"I'll have notes ready – for the letters – let's say, after lunch?"

"Yes, let's say that," she replied mockingly.

He smiled.

"And another visit to your chambers – say, in another day or so?"

Fire shown briefly in her eyes. With a quick spin on one heel she was out the door and marching down the long deer-head corridor.

:

* * *

A/N: Almost had this one ready by last weekend - hope this weekend works. A big thanks goes out to all the readers on that last one. And again, much thanks for the comments from annaea3077, hellokittyaniya, marianna79, phoenixtearsandfeathers, and AnnaOxford - you all are so sweet.


	5. Signs in the Night

**.**

"**And I wasn't playing a role – I was trying to be myself.**

**But the harder I was striving, the more I was realizing that I had probably lost that 'myself' somewhere between **

**two perfectly performed roles..."**

― **Simona Panova, Nightmarish Sacrifice **

**.**

**The Tower Window**

**5\. Signs in the Night**

As he had promised, Draco kept Hermione working on correspondence over the course of the next week and away from Griselda. The letters requested of her to write were addressed to powerful wizarding families across Europe with the intention of recruiting new members to the cause. Given a general outline, Hermione would add the verbiage to formulate a proper letter. Never allowed access to any responses, she had no idea if the letters had any effect.

Nevertheless, she had been struck with a terrible thought. What if the letters were successful? What if by some chance her letters helped recruit a witch or wizard that killed one of her own friends. What if Harry or Ron were finally caught and outnumbered one day... The thought worried her endlessly, so for that reason she would try and leave mistakes in the grammar. As little as it was, she hoped it would have a dissuading effect.

Griselda had shown her mug-like face only once since the incident; the ugly house-elf walked by without any acknowledgment of any kind. When pressed, Daisy would only say that Griselda was under a lot of pressure to finish refurbishing the rooms along the long corridor. Whatever the outcome of this mission, it's purpose must be expanded to include Griselda. This she promised herself.

Every day that Hermione worked on the correspondence, Daisy would begin the day by bringing something different for her to wear but never the drab black habiliments of the house maid. It would often be jeans or a frock of some kind and they were all were sized by Draco, or at least she had come to believe it so.

Many days now since the putty knife had gone missing, Hermione felt it was safe to extract it from it's hiding place. Waiting until late one night, she quietly moved the chair to under the stovepipe's exit point in the wall. Carefully twisting the flange, she worked it back and forth while pulling to expose the knife where it was nestled between the pipe and the jagged cutout in the stone.

Looking at the blade, she realized the monumental effort to grind the square tip into a point might take several months. On top of that was how and where. Most of the stone walls were something akin to sandstone and would crumble away if used to sharpen anything with the hardness of steel. One night while handling the blade absentmindedly she went over to sit by the window. She observed for the first time that the long stone forming the sill under the window was dark gray and completely different than the dusty brown sandstone surrounding it. It might be just what she needed and the bottom section of the sill was completely hidden from view.

Underneath the sill, she began to grind at one corner of the flat tip blade. The progress was slow and tedious, but tiny bits of the metal were ground away in the process. It was hard work, but she would study the small stone cottage to ease the boredom.

The days trudged on but were not without incident. Draco had made good on another promise – he had come to her chambers for another 'visit'. She had no warning nor received any clues from Daisy. When she returned one morning from her shower, another negligee was laying across her bed. It was long, very sheer, and a dark forest green in color.

She studied the garment for some time. It was beautiful in it's own right. Long, sheer, with spaghetti straps and a plunging back and neckline. It was a shame to waste it on such an awful barstard. It was those sentiments coupled with something she couldn't quite put her fingers that bothered her so badly that she refused to wear it.

"He'll be furious," warned Daisy.

"He'll get over it," she replied and gently placed the wispy garment over the edge of the chair. She waited instead sitting on the edge of the bed in her terrycloth bathrobe.

He was angry... but he did get over it. As a matter of fact, he got over it twice. Throughout the whole thing, Hermione never allowed herself to warm to his touch. She was clinical, and accommodating in only the manner she had agreed to but nothing more. Nothing more in spite of Draco's repeated attempts to arouse her.

His touch had been much softer, he lingered in every action an an attempt to warm her to him. She didn't know why the bastard did that. Why didn't he just take her and be done with it, she wondered. Was he really so gullible and so full of himself to think she would ever warm to a man like him.

"Did you not like this?" he had asked of the negligee.

"It's beautiful," she spit back the reply.

"Well, then why the hell didn't you wear it?"

Hermione looked away, unwilling to assimilate an answer.

"Well, it was very expensive. And now, it's wasted," he spat venomously. "They'll be no meals for you today."

"_Thanks_," she replied. He tightened the belt of his dressing gown and hastily left without further discourse.

Curiously, at the end of the day, when she returned to her room, the negligee was still laying across the chair. As he had threatened, there was no food on the hob. There was also no tea or drink of any kind.

"Daisy, can you manage something to drink. Some hot tea maybe?"

"If Daisy gets caught – it will be much trouble."

"Oh, never mind Daisy. It's my fault anyway. The last thing I need is to get you in trouble too."

"Daisy will try – but no promises," she said and left the room, locking the door as usual from the outside.

An hour later, she heard light footsteps and someone fumbling with the lock on the door. She barely had time to stuff the knife under the pillow before Daisy pulled open the door, which protested on squealing hinges. She moved it a couple of inches and stopped to speak through the crack.

"We must fix that," Daisy said of the door. "The whole mansion will hear us."

"I'll fix it now."

Hermione quietly took the chair from the window and placed it under the upper door hinge. Rolling her tongue around in her mouth, Hermione was barely able to gather enough spit to soak the hinges while gently rocking the door until it moved quietly.

"That'll do for now," she boasted.

Daisy was able to enter quietly and placed a metal cup filled with water on the hob. Digging a teabag from a pocket in her pillowcase, she dropped a bag into the cup.

"That should be ready in a few minutes," she said and handed Hermione a folded handkerchief with a few teaspoons of sugar wrapped inside.

"You're too kind Daisy," Hermione said and kissed the house-elf on top of her house-elf head.

"Goodnight Miss," she whispered and scampered out, locking the door behind her.

Emptying all of the sugar into the tea, Hermione sat by the window and watched for any activity along the grounds and out toward the stone cottage. Taking her sweet time to finish the tea, it was growing late before she removed the knife from under the pillow and began the sharpening again. It was was probably an hour later when she saw a light moving from the manor in a direction toward the cottage.

The light floated along, moving to and fro, as a lantern would move if hanging from the end of an arm. There was window light visible from the cabin and the lantern stopped short of the front of the small stone building. Moments later a front door must have swung open as it dwarfed the light of the lantern. A large shadow in the doorway appeared to reach out and take something. Moments later the door must have closed as the light went away and the small yellow orb bobbled it's way back toward the direction from whence it came.

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

The next morning came all too early. Uncomfortable on an empty stomach, Hermione had stayed up too late before falling asleep. Daisy was standing over her bed while Hermione dreamed the morning away.

"Get up Miss," she croaked. "Time to get up."

"Oh," groaned Hermione and rolled over.

"GETUP," shouted Daisy. Hermione jumped as she had never heard Daisy resort to shouting. "For the love of Merlin Miss Hermione – get up."

Attempting to comply, Hermione stretched out fully and yawned until she felt able to sit up. As usual, she stripped out of the night dress in the frigid morning air and slipped into the dressing gown. Daisy led her down the tower staircase, which was always tricky in the morning, and through the long corridor to the showers.

After a hot shower and toweling dry, she felt fully awake. None of the workers were in the corridor at this hour and they were quite alone.

"Daisy," she began. "Who lives in the stone cottage? The one you can see from my window."

Daisy balked on the question.

"Oh, I don't know Miss," she said at last. "Things outside these walls don't concern Daisy."

"No, I guess they wouldn't, would they."

"No Miss. There's plenty to worry about inside, and why would _you_ worry about such things?"

"Oh, I don't know,"she replied and Daisy looked back suspiciously. "Perhaps one day I'll be allowed a stroll around the grounds. So, I was just wondering. I have to wonder you see. It's in my nature."

"I suppose it is Miss," she said and unlocked the door to the tower room. "But you best be careful about such things."

"I will Daisy."

"And you get dressed right right away. Someone will be along for you in a minute or two."

"Good morning Daisy," Hermione said and watched the house-elf hobble back down the spiral staircase and disappear.

As it was always the custom, fresh clothes were lying on the bed when she returned. Hermione didn't ask Daisy who put them there, but apparently another elf dropped them off when she left for her morning shower. There always appeared to be house-elves around for just about everything, and it seemed of little concern. Hermione would pose only the important questions to Daisy and pass on the trivial things. She needed to know who lived in the cottage – were they friend or foe? If she was ever to make good an escape she would have to know as much as possible about the grounds and all those things around it.

The ensemble of the day consisted of a sky blue shirtwaisted woolen frock with midnight blue hosiery and short black heels. This was quite unlike anything she'd been given before. It gave her a tidy almost professional look. A house-elf of whom she barely recognized led her back down the tower to Malfoy's office rooms. She removed the heels while negotiating the staircase and attempted to stir up a conversation with the elf. After several attempts, she gave up and followed quietly.

After the long trek to Draco's office the young house-elf rapped on the door several times with no answer. She stood there with a baffled and puzzled look for a few moments. She obviously didn't know what to do. House-elves were seldom given the freedom to make decisions. They were given orders and expected to follow them. This young elf was completely clueless as to what to do next and Hermione almost felt sorry for her.

"I can wait in the reading room," Hermione suggested and pointed to the room where she normally worked when writing correspondence.

At first the elf seemed unsure but finally consented to Hermione's suggestion. There was now an uneasiness in the karma surrounding Malfoy Manor. The master was unavailable and the house-elves were forced to make decisions. Hermione pulled up a stool to the high desk and began to riffle through papers from the previous day.

Within minutes, the head house-elf wandered by and peeped in to check on Hermione. The elves were still a bit nervous with Draco away. An hour later found her putting some finishing touches on a letter when heavier than elf footsteps approached and paused in the door. It was a couple of Death Eaters she didn't recognize. One was now parked in the door and smiling with large yellow teeth. His greasy jet black hair was hanging out from the bottom of the hat in long tinseled strands.

"Well, well. What do we ave ere," said the Death Eater standing in the door. With her feet pulled up under her and resting on the stool crossbar, her hem was well above her knees. He canted his head, staring at Hermione's legs and shapely gams. "Ol Draco, he never mentioned anything about you."

"He never mentioned you either."

"Hah," he snorted and took it on himself to approach the witch, rudely keeping his eyes on her legs. "Maybe he ought to introduce us. Wouldn't mind getting to know you," he went on, much to the amusement of his partner in crime.

"You'll have to take that up with Draco."

"Will I now – well don't you work too hard," he said and patted her on the knee. "Wouldn't want to see you hurt those fine legs."

The Death Eater and his friend were laughing loudly now. The head house-elf had now returned with a worried look on his face.

"She works for Master Draco," the elf announced. "Official business," he added.

"I bet she does," he snapped and they both laughed.

"Come this way sir," the house-elf ordered. The Death Eater smile quickly turned sour.

"I'll 'come this way', but I don't take no orders from a house-elf," he barked.

"Excuse me sir, but I will be happy to discuss your business in here."

There was a reluctant pause and finally they all three could be heard walking down the corridor to disappear. The house-elf had been careful not to say how long the Master of the house would be gone. With no new letters to write Hermione idled away the morning hours until the first call for lunch.

'Lunch' was always a brief affair. Generally Hermione would sit amongst the house-elves and take a twenty minute break. That was generally plenty of time to consume what little was offered for this meal. The house-elves appeared to be split into two groups. This group, which served the immediate needs of the household, was always separate from the group that Griselda managed. It was all just a technicality really as both groups behaved pretty much the same way in matters of social interaction.

Lunch was breaking up when the heavy footsteps announced the Death Eaters and Alfred coming their way again. _Long Greasy Hair_ stuck his head in the small dining room.

"Certainly enjoyed meeting you," he said. This time Hermione ignored the wizard but he hung in the doorway. "You won't get rid of me that easy..."

More footsteps were now approaching.

"Thortlean – Pengrove, how are you?" said a familiar voice.

"Draco. Thought we'd missed you," replied Greasy Hair.

"Good to see you Thortlean. How's the war?"

"It's still there – but their numbers are thinning. Matter of fact, they lost a few today," he boasted and turned again toward Hermione. "Didn't know you had this one holed up here," he said, referring to Hermione, "or I'da stopped by a little sooner."

Draco looked uncomfortable and cleared his throat.

"Yeah, well she's doing some important recruiting work."

"Yeah? Maybe we could do some important work together," he said and guffawed loudly.

"Maybe, when she's done here," Draco replied.

Thortlean sneered and stifled a laugh.

"Did you get what you needed from Alfred?" came back Draco in a businesslike tone.

Thortlean paused and then nodded.

"We'll be off then," the Death Eater announced. He tipped the bill of his grungy hat and addressed Hermione once again. "Good day Missy."

Draco stood in the doorway and watched the two men until they were gone. Finally he turned toward Hermione. From inside his coat pocket he extracted a sheet of parchment.

"I have some more names and addresses."

Hermione arose to take the list from Draco.

"Good, I'll get started then." She moved toward the writing room and then stopped short to address Draco. "So you'll give me away when you're done then?"

"What? You still think you're special Granger? Maybe you need to spend a little time with Thortlean. Perhaps then you could get that superior attitude out of your system."

The remark stun like a smack across the face. Now that he had had her, was he so quickly ready to give her to some piece of filth Death Eater? Even though she hated Draco Malfoy with all her heart, the thought of being cast aside left her with a feeling of hurt. Was that possible from a man she hated? If so, how?

"Yeah... well _maybe_ Malfoy. Couldn't be any worse than this place."

Malfoy smirked and then left with smile. She would spend extra time by the window sill tonight. The blade was coming along nicely. Another week or so and the tip should be ready. She couldn't wait to see the smirk leave his face when she shoved it between his ribs.

.

* * *

A/N: That last chapter took too long to get out – so a little quicker with this one. Thank you all so much for reading, and many grats to marianna79, everlastingtrueromance, AnnaOxford, and LanaLee1 for your comments - this helps.


	6. An Unwelcome Surprise

**.**

**'I suppose sooner or later in the life of everyone comes a moment of trial. We all of us have our particular devil who rides us and torments us, and we must give battle in the end.'**

– **Daphne du Maurier, **_**Rebecca**_

**.**

**The Tower Window**

**6\. An Unwelcome Surprise**

Over the next two days there was no sign of Draco Malfoy or the Death Eaters that stopped by her writing room. But this only aggravated Hermione's fears and worries. There was no way for her to know what plans these bastards might be trying to hatch, and Malfoy's hateful comments still weighed heavily on her mind.

She knew in her heart she'd get revenge, but for now she would have to be satisfied with her own carefully laid plans. Grinding away at the putty knife until late into the night was the only way to allay her insults and injuries.

There was a time by the window, one that she guessed was near to midnight, when two workers, too big for house-elves, could be seen carrying a long box to the stone cottage. They appeared to be holding the box by the ends with one hand and lanterns with the other. The lanterns and the workers could be seen to disappear around the rear of the cottage.

Feeling a chill, she opened her eyes, moved then almost fell out of the chair. Apparently she'd fallen asleep in the chair while resting her head on the sill. If the workers ever returned from the cottage she'd missed them. Rubbing her eyes, she hid the knife, turned off the lamp and crawled into bed and under the covers.

She awoke early the next morning with a troubling thought. _What if Draco did give her to the Death Eater?_

Malfoy had been to her in her chambers several times now and she didn't think he would so quickly grow tired of the visits and stop. She rationalized that the novelty of her being there was enough to keep him coming back for a while. But what if his curiosity faded?

What if the Death Eater offered a lucrative deal to Draco for a trade of some sort? Then she'd be really screwed, in more ways than one, with no way to complete the mission. Tossing and turning restlessly, Daisy arrived at her door with hot tea and a fresh dressing gown.

Daisy didn't protest her taking a longer shower this morning. Being a colder night than normal, the stone floors and walls radiated a cold that chilled her to the bone. When she got back to the room she was shaking from the cold. But the coldest note yet was struck when she glanced at the bed to see no new clothes for the day, but fresh towels instead. That could mean only one thing – a visitor. Thoughts turning deadly pragmatical, she knew what she had to do. She had to put her hooks into this bastard.

"We'll need a fire," Hermione said and glanced at the stove.

Daisy neither confirmed or denied the situation Hermione suspected. She merely took up the coal scuttle and ran out the door. In these few moments, Hermione considered her situation and reached into a small drawer in the desk and pulled out the forest green negligee. Feeling the sheer material in her hands, she put the matching bra and knickers away and slipped out of the dressing gown. Her naked skin immediately broke out with goose pimples. With stiff muscles, she struggled to slip the sheer gown over her head and then pulled the hem down around her ankles. She clipped the bushy hair so the ends fanned out nicely over her shoulders. Once complete, she looked around for the satiny green house-shoes with a heel. Slipping into the shoes, she didn't need a mirror to know she looked and felt like a tart. And surprisingly right now it didn't feel all that bad.

The material was so thin her goose pimples were protruding like braille. Daisy returned with the scuttle and soon had the stove was creaking and popping from the heat. Daisy curtsied sheepishly and scurried off. Within minutes the room was almost warm. With the room comfortable now, she moved toward the window and mused over her situation. When would the bastard be along, she wondered? Outside it was a beautiful fall morning – clear and cold.

It was minutes later before sounds of the latch could be heard to work and Draco Malfoy slithered in without making a sound.

"Taking notice of the grounds are we?"

"Yes," she said flatly. _If the bastard could only guess why._

"Oh yeah – well what do you notice?" he asked while studying her in the barely opaque negligee.

"Just the beautiful scenery outside," she said.

"I see a beautiful scene right here."

Puzzled at first, the realization finally hit her that her nakedness would be quite apparent, standing in front of the window in a see-through gown.

"I'd like to walk them over – the grounds."

"Bullshit; you'd be planning your escape," he accused.

"Escape! Away from you? Away from you and that bastard Thortlean? How did you ever come up with such a thought; besides, without a wand – how far would I go?"

"Come here," he stated imperatively, but she wouldn't budge from the window. He moved toward her instead until she felt his hands rubbing the slick material. He rubbed her back and arms and moved closer until they were touching. He pulled back the bushy hair and whispered hot breath into her ear.

"The negligee looks good on you Granger. You finally arrive at your senses?"

She turned away from Draco and the window.

"It was through your persuasion – and my hunger."

He ignored the jilt and she felt hands immediately on her breasts. He gently cupped them. She could feel the warmth of his hands through the sheer fabric. Quickly they slid away from her breasts to along her sides and stopped on her ass. He kneaded and squeezed her bum, pulling her toward him until her body was pressed into his.

For a moment, she thought he would lift her hem and take her right on the sill of the window. Instead, he pulled her away from the window until they standing in front of the bed. The stove had warmed the room by now. Malfoy's hands went exploring under her garment. His mouth went for hers. It was just a kiss at first, but then she could feel his tongue slithering deeply. She was caught off guard by this – not ready mentally to be swapping spit with Malfoy. It felt even more personal and degrading than the sex they had exchanged.

But she had better be less clinical. If this little ruse were to be successful she had better not be such a cold bitch. She rammed her tongue into his mouth and almost convulsed. This seemed to surprise the wizard. Immediately his hand went under her gown and ran along her legs until the hem of the gown and his hands were at waist level. Picking her up by the waist, he gently sat her ass on the edge of the bed. Speedy fingers undid the knot of his dressing gown; pulling his arms out of the sleeves he let the whole thing fall to the floor.

There was Malfoy, completely starkers, standing in front of her and hanging flaccidly. He looked at her with eager eyes. His hands skimmed along her shoulders and over the bushy hair and finally fingertips were pressing slightly on the back her head. Her eyes looked up at his for clarification. Now she was quite certain of his intentions. This would certainly be less clinical, she thought, but could she do it?

Might as well go ahead with it, she reasoned. It should complete the ruse, and the bastard would be dead in a couple of weeks anyway.

With Malfoy fouling the front of her gown, he pulled it over her head tossed it to the floor. Hoping he might me finished, it appeared his vigor was renewed and they were moving toward the second act. He stroked and caressed and gently pried between her legs with his fingers until she was ready.

Pushing her on her back, he positioned himself over her and began to work his hips toward her. Taking a huge breath, she exhaled slowly and relaxed to accommodate his enormous size.

"Ohhh," she cried.

"God, that's good."

He began with slow and rhythmical thrusts. Adhering to the new theme of not being a bitch, she allowed her hips to move ever so slightly to match his. She might have to fake some responses later, but she was still determined to be completely unfeeling. Taking any pleasure in this horrendous act would be a sin and a crime, she thought.

But Draco, would not go quietly into the night. He wouldn't just finish this degrading business and be on his way. He tarried then slowed, and the bastard just wouldn't quit. It was at this time that Hermione's brain played a trick on her. Her mind went back, only for a moment, to her and Ron's first weekend in Hogsmeade. She could still smell the wood burning in the fireplace. She could still feel the two of them cuddling naked under the satin lined duvet while Hogsmeade was being blanketed in a layer of thick snow.

The vision lasted for only a few moments, but that was as long as the brain needed to complete it's deceitful mission. Now her body, so hungry to comply, so tired of feeling pain, could feel something completely different. Her body and her brain, totally opposed, were also totally juxtaposed at this very moment.

It began with a warm tingling and then moved toward soft undulations from her tummy. She wanted to quit. She wanted to hide her face and escape but she was trapped with a raging bull on top of her. She was at this moment feeling for all the world like a pinned butterfly. There was nothing further her brain needed to do. The trick had been complete and Malfoy was dragging her over the edge of a cliff with him. Her breathing became quick and labored. The movement of her hips proved they had a mind of their own. What the hell was this?

"Oh my God," she cried.

The speed and fury of his thrusts intensified. She was caught helplessly in a fast moving stream that raced toward a fall. Suddenly she felt as though she was pushed backward into a pool of warm water. Her body shuddered and her tummy quaked and spasm-ed. She was now lying spreadeagled on a warm beach as her orgasm rolled over her in a series of long waves.

Malfoy's moves intensified until she felt his explosion deep inside of her. As quickly as a summer storm, it was over and the blonde headed wizard fell on top of her exhausted.

"That was some magic Granger," he said at last.

Still winded, and with Malfoy still on top of her, she struggled for a deep breath.

"Yes, I suppose it was."

He rolled off the bed and reached for the towel. When he was through he tossed it to Hermione.

"Thanks," she said dryly.

He took one last gaze at her. From head to toe, his eyes swept across her nakedness as he pulled on the dressing gown and quickly fastened the belt. He moved toward the squeaky door and paused to look back.

"I don't want your work here to suffer because of some ungrounded fear."

"What?" she asked, obviously puzzled.

"Don't worry about Thortlean – or any other Death Eater while you're here."

Hermione's blissful expression, now much softer and almost sultry, was all the answer he needed. He smiled briefly, opened the squeaking door and left the room, quickly fastening the latch behind him.

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

Hermione's days at the Manor were quickly becoming monotonous. Gone were the strict regimes, starched stiff clothes, and the cold evening meals. The only remaining point of urgency occurred in the morning when Daisy dropped by her room at the break of dawn. Yes, the days were filled with platitudes and little of variety of any kind. One was at mealtimes, but the meals for house-elves and house workers were rather simple affairs. The other occurred after the morning shower when she returned to her room to see what clothes were laid out on the bed. They generally weren't too bad, and mysteriously they were fitted to her almost perfectly.

She was even permitted to change the clothes if she liked. One morning when she returned there was, lying across the bed, a pair of chalk white hosiery, a very short midnight blue skirt, and a bespoke white blouse with too few buttons. The ensemble was made complete with schoolgirl flats. A naughty version of the schoolgirl uniform. She absolutely refused to wear it. Her refusal scared the wits out of Daisy, but after the protest was made known, another house-elf showed up with practical jeans and a warm cardigan.

Sadly, the only real escape from monotony at the Manor were the visits from Draco Malfoy, but those were hardly welcome relief. There had been another visit, and it had gone down pretty much like the one before it. This time she had promised herself to be solid, to be firm. She swore to herself not to take pleasure in the act... but in spites of her efforts of control she lost it all in the last few minutes.

The bastard was definitely a wizard, and he appeared determined to foul her plans. Why couldn't he just take what he wanted and be gone? But he wouldn't. He just wouldn't quit until he'd taken her far beyond her clinical boundaries. In simple language, she was taking physical pleasure from the enemy. An enemy she was preparing to kill. This is something she never would have thought possible.

She tried to put the whole thing into perspective but it was difficult. There she was: little Miss Death Eater Fucker. Relaxing in the comforts of Malfoy Manor, giving and taking sexual pleasure from a Death Eater while others were fighting and dying in the war.

Trying to be as objective as possible, she'd approached the problem on an almost philosophical level. She envisioned the whole complex problem like the workings of a watch. She had pulled out the critical pieces and examined them very closely.

Was it truly pleasure she received? She didn't think so. Not in the strictest terms. True pleasure was something you were proud to enjoy. No, she liked to think of this thing as the inverse of pain. It was comparable to the pleasure you receive when you stop hitting your thumb with a hammer. It was like the pleasure you feel when a stomach ache stops or a headache fades away. Pain and pleasure were like two faces of the same coin, far different but inseparable. For all the misery at Malfoy Manor, there were a few moments of bliss. It all averaged out like some governing equation in life.

So to hell with it, she thought. For all the pain and misery she felt at the mansion, there would be the possibility of a few moments of bliss. That, she could to come to terms with. That, she could live with for as long as it took to complete the mission.

But there were the more difficult moments she couldn't explain. In those last few seconds of bliss she held on to Malfoy tightly, as if they were flying over the gardens of the mansion and if she didn't hold on then she might fall. In those last few moments, if he kissed her she might find herself kissing back. She could feel her hips driving into his. She could feel her nails digging into his back.

She hoped she could kill the bastard soon.

And that worried her too. Now that he was doing to her, what he was doing, would she grow soft at that very moment when she had to drive the knife deep into his side? She didn't think so. All it took was the memory of dear friends lying dead. Those vacant stares, cloudy eyes staring into blackness – dead from a Death Eater's Avada Kedavra. Those very same Death Eaters Malfoy had financed throughout the war.

So the visits would continue, and she would continue experiencing this _Inverse of Pain_ as she referred to it for as long as it took to finish the job. It would, after all, make the ruse complete. So it also had a useful function as well.

She was left with only one real problem, not philosophical, not tied to one's feelings or emotional state of mind. It was something very real. The underneath portion of the sill she used to sharpen the knife had developed a deep furrow. The stone was not as hard as she had originally thought. It worked just fine to shape the blade but now, hollowed concave, would never be able to properly sharpen it. This complication would cost her some time.

If memory served her, she remembered a sharpening stone in the toolbox used by Griselda's house-elves. That would be perfect. With that stone she would be able to take the roughly hewn blade and sharpen it to a razor edge. Yes, she must have the stone to insure success. But to have any chance to get it would mean working for Griselda again. She couldn't ask to be put there – that would be all to obvious. She would have to be demoted. She would have to do something bad and be sent to work for Griselda as punishment.

She quickly thought of something to do. Something that hopefully would kill two birds with one stone.

No – make that two birds and one snake.

.

* * *

**A/N:** Had to stew on this one a bit – but another chapter in and I can see the story sweep making a huge arc. Hermione is in an almost impossible position here – NPI. What Draco is doing is definitely messing with her head. She's got a plan for him though...

Thanks to all those that read, followed and faved. And as usual, an extra big thanks for comments goes out to LanaLee1, marianna79, phoenixtearsandfeathers, dutch potterfan, AnnaOxford, and magnoliaorchard.


	7. Escape

**.**

"**When I meet a wind I cannot fight , I can do naught but set my sails to let it take me where it will." **

– **Susanna Kearsley, _The Rose Garden_  
.**

**The Tower Window**

**7\. Escape  
**

Watched constantly, except when locked away in her room, Hermione could never get completely free from the prying eyes of the house-elves. For that reason, and because her movements in the manor were so restricted, coming up with a plan to get caught breaking the rules was somewhat limited.

It would have to be at the end of her work day when she was permitted to visit the loo, before she was escorted back to her room. The elves would be sitting down to their evening meal and paying little attention to her using the loo. When all the elves had finally managed to take a seat at the table she sprang the question.

"Can I go to the loo?" Hermione asked the group of hungry elves eagerly awaiting their dinner.

A dozen or more house-elves looked up with befuddled faces. They had worked like dogs all day and were now eagerly awaiting their just reward. The last thing any of them wanted was personally escorting Hermione to the loo. The elves all looked around until the most junior house-elf was spotted. All eyes were now trained on this elf whose expression said 'who me?'.

Begrudgingly, the elf croaked something unintelligible and rose from the table. Ignoring the rude interruption, the group's attention quickly turned back to their meal, which was now floating out from the kitchen on a wave of magic.

The house-elves always gathered at mealtimes in the informal dining area just off the main kitchen. The 'main' kitchen was on the ground floor and as far removed from the great hall as the ground floor layout allowed. There was another kitchen, a smaller one, on the second floor and just above the first. The two were connected by a dumb waiter and signaling bells. The second floor kitchen was used mainly for breakfast and smaller meals in general. Large events, where the guests were seated in the huge dining room off the great hall, were serviced by the ground floor kitchen.

Hermione marched straight away to the loo, pausing to look back politely. It was all part of the ruse. With just enough distance between her and the house-elf, she entered a service corridor and then stepped into a broom closet before the elf could turn the corner. Hiding quietly she waited for the next signal..

Three minutes must have passed before the house-elf called out and opened the door to the loo.

"Hurry up in there – I'll miss supper," called the elf. Hermione heard the door swing wide open. She peeped out. Growing suspicious, the little elf had stepped into the loo. With her shoes in her hands, Hermione stepped back into the corridor and raced past the loo and into the back rooms and alleys of the Manor.

For a moment, she felt dreadfully sorry for the young elf. Undoubtedly, she would miss her supper and probably suffer a beating as well. But now, Hermione needed all of her concentration to navigate through the back of the mansion and find the door to the garden. Almost lost, she knew she had to find the door before the elves were alerted to her absence.

From the coming and going of workers she figured there was a garden entrance somewhere although it was proving damned difficult to find. Finally spotting dirty and worn carpet, she followed the trail until stumbling upon the opening of a foyer and finally the last door to the grounds outside.

With one quick turn, the latch was free and the door swung open on oily hinges. Immediately Hermione was hit with a blast of cold fresh air, the first she'd felt since before coming to the manor. The thin cardigan, jeans, and ballet flats were no match for winter-like conditions. No matter she reasoned. This little expedition would not likely last long before she was caught, but if she was lucky she might just get the information she was after.

According to her calculations she would have to circumnavigate half way around the house, and then the stone cottage should come into view. Hugging the walls of the manor and ducking under the windows, she had managed the length of one wall. When she didn't return the young house-elf would come looking. When she didn't find her – then all hell would break loose. So she had to work fast.

Peeping around the corner to look down the next wall, everything appeared clear and quiet. She would have to be careful here; if memory served her, the window to Malfoy's study should be along this wall. Luckily, there was only one window showing any light. That must be window to Malfoy's study and it would be easy enough to avoid.

Stepping around the small bushes and shrubs, she crawled under the large ones until the corner of the manor was a few steps away. She hoped the lights to the cottage were burning or the mock escape just might be all for naught.

Peeping around the corner, luck would have it her way; the lights of the cottage were visible in the clear evening air. She guessed the distance to be about four hundred meters. She could run it, but she didn't know the terrain at all; the last thing she needed was a twisted or wrenched ankle.

With the cottage in sight, Hermione pushed away from the walls of the manor; leaving the last vestige of security behind her. Bravely away into the night, she pushed on toward the small building. Half walking, half trotting, she was making good progress. The cottage window was already growing bigger. The damp grass was soaking the thin ballet flats. She looked back at the gray silhouette of Malfoy Manor. All appeared quiet on the outside but inside should be bustling with activity. Would they search the inside of the house before moving on to the grounds, or would they split up and cover both at once?

Halfway, she was over halfway now. Already she could see movement behind the cabin window. A chill of excitement swept over her dampened skin as she quickened her pace to a steady trot. Very near the cottage door, her footsteps were hitting the damp ground with a wet splat and she slowed to a walk.

She approached the steps to the cottage. The front door was cracked open. The hair on the back of her neck began to rise. Inside, soft sobs and the mewling cries of a woman could be heard. The door was cracked enough to get a look inside. She was about to put her eye up to the crack when she was startled by the loud pop of apparition. The explosive effects of someone apparating inside the cottage slammed the door shut with a bang.

Hermione backed away from the door and was about to turn and run when it was yanked open. Standing in the door menacingly was Malfoy, and she felt like a rat in a trap. She backed off the stone porch, almost tripping, and he followed. His wand, which had been dangling at his side, pointed quickly heavenward.

"PERICULUM," he conjured. A bright red streak of light erupted from the tip of his wand and shot through the umbrella of darkness. Possibly a signal to others, or would he lower the wand now to aim at her instead. She didn't think he would, but Malfoy's expression was stoic, unreadable in the dim light. Hermione stepped backwards several steps as if backing away from a dangerous animal..

Two more cracks of apparition occurred behind her then several more after that. There was no need to look, she put her face in her hands.

"Are you willing to to return with us peacefully or must we drag you?" Malfoy stood, smirkly waiting for an answer.

For a moment longer, Hermione listened for any sounds coming from the cottage, but Malfoy had closed the door solidly and she could hear no more cries or sobs from whoever was inside. As if consenting to the devil himself, she said nothing but turned to face the growing mob behind her.

Alfred and Griselda were standing directly behind her, and prepared for action if her best guess was worth anything at all. About half of the elves seated in the kitchen were standing in front of her with scowls on their faces.

Feeling like a captured prisoner, the walk back to the manor felt like forever. Feet soaking wet, her clothes completely damp with the night air, they trudged on. Surrounded by elves, she wondered if the adventure had been worth the punishment she would receive. She looked back to spot the top of Malfoy's blonde head pulling up the rear.

Gradually, they neared the mansion and then re-entered the same door Hermione had used for escape. Daisy was waiting at the door with a worried look on her face. The small house-elf couldn't hide the fear showing in her huge glassy eyes.

Surrounded by the elves, they paused in the foyer and waited for the master of the house to enter. Once all were inside their attention tuned toward Draco.

"Daisy, you escort Miss Granger back to her room. Griselda, Alfred, you two make sure that happens," he explained.

"Yes Master," they chorused and the group began to break.

"Oh, and be back at the crack of dawn tomorrow," he added. "For the inconvenience you've created at dinner time, you'll answer to the elves tomorrow."

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

_Answer to the elves tomorrow._ Hermione had no idea how that would play out. But it had to be some form of punishment – she was sure of that. She wasn't particularly afraid of elves, although she knew from experience that Griselda could be quite vicious. Doing her best to be calm, she struggled all evening with a nervous stomach, and without food to settle it, it did flips throughout the night.

The minutes before the dawn were always the hardest. Every bad situation felt worse in the dark of night. Could the war have really gone so bad? Could so many of her friends have been killed. The things she would suffer for in this assignment, would the outcome make a difference? Any difference at all? It was only the night she finally told herself. Everything would seem brighter tomorrow – yes everything would seem better tomorrow.

She'd given up on dawn ever arriving when the first rays of morning light made their way through her dirty chamber window. Minutes later the latch on her door began to lift, and Daisy entered with a fresh white dressing gown across her outstretched arms.

"Is you awake Miss?"

"Yes," she answered in a hoarse morning voice.

"Then we best get going – and you'll need this," said Daisy and put the white cotton dressing gown across the foot of the bed.

_So this is it. No shower for me this morning._

With tense sore muscles Hermione struggled out of bed and pulled the hem of the nightshirt up and over her head. Her bushy hair was flying in all directions. She looked down over her nakedness for only a moment and wondered what condition she'd be in when this ordeal was over. Throwing her arms through the sleeves of the gown, she cinched the belt and nodded to Daisy her readiness to depart.

Following Daisy down the stairs of the turret-like tower they continued down to a level she had not ventured to before. They paused so that Daisy could reach up and take a torch from a wrought-iron sconce in the opening of a dark corridor. They continued down the long dark corridor. It was damp and sepulchral and Hermione guessed it ran under the lower length of the mansion.

Arriving at the end they turned a corner toward a room filled with mumbling voices. At last, with enough light to see, they entered a room lit with four similar torches suspended by the same wrought-iron fixtures. In the front of the room was a small elf sized wooden cross in the shape of an X. The room was full of female elves with the exception of a larger elf-sized figure wearing a black hood and bearing a wand. This was the first time Hermione had seen an elf carrying a wand. His function must be a sergeant at arms or something like that, she guessed.

Daisy paused to place her torch in a spare sconce and led Hermione up to the cross. It had rope loops for the feet and hands but was only elf sized. This part of the room was raised slightly by a platform and almost stage-like. The hooded elf extended his wand and pointed as the X shaped cross.

"Engorgio," he said and moved his wand upwards. The cross increased to a size appropriate for Hermione's height.

From a side entrance, footsteps much heavier than an elf's entered the room. It was Malfoy. He sauntered in, stepping upon the platform, to address the small gathering.

"Hermione Granger; you've been brought here today to be punished by the house-elves that you've inconvenienced and disgraced."

"Disgraced? I've done no such thing.

"The elves beg to disagree – I beg to disagree. You're a part of the working staff of Malfoy Manor. When you get out of line you bring the whole lot into a bad light," he explained.

Hermione bowed and shook her head.

"Remember this, any elf would get the same for what you did."

"I did nothing."

"I wash my hands of this," he insisted and waved off the matter to leave the room by a side door. Was this Malfoy's way of disconnecting himself from the punishment?

At once, Griselda stepped up to the platform to take Malfoy's place.

"You cost these elves their supper when you tried to escape. Take off the gown and step up to the rack," she ordered.

Hermione knew resistance was futile at this point. Ordered naked at least once a day, her modesty had been disposed of long ago, she casually untied the belt and let the gown fall to the floor. She stepped out her house shoes and up to the X shaped rack.

"Put your hands up," barked Griselda and Hermione reluctantly complied.

Immediately, the hooded elf stepped up onto a stool in order to work the rope loops around her wrists and ankles. The loops pulled her tightly into the ice cold apparatus.

"This won't be necessary," injected Hermione.

"Yes it is – so shut up," croaked Griselda.

In a few moments she was firmly tied to the rack. The ropes were tight and dug into her wrists and ankles. To her immediate left two elves were carrying a barrel sized wicker basket, stuffed full of switches. The jagged looking switches varied between three and four feet of length.

The remaining elves were forming a line leading up to the platform. When all were in position Griselda announced the order:

"Let the punishment begin."

The first elf in line, a big girl for elf-kind, stepped up onto the platform. She fished through the basket for a few moments and pulled out a four foot long switch. Hermione would later learn that the switches were Stinging Nettles. The plant was covered with spiny needles that causes intense stinging and irritation.

Hermione strained to turn and watch the elf take careful aim and then swat her fully across the buttocks. Hermione winced and let out a little scream. The initial pain was sharp but not yet intense. One by one the elves stepped up to the platform, each finding a suitable switch. The elves appeared to take pure pleasure in being able to turn the tables and inflict punishment onto a witch. The pain from irritation was beginning to build to an intolerable level. What Hermione couldn't see was the reddening flesh on her backside swelling grotesquely. Hermione was now screaming with every swat.

Adding insult to injury, what appeared to be the last elf to approach the platform was none other than Daisy. The little elf was teary eyed but nonetheless compelled to find a switch and deliver a blow, which she did in earnest. Finally, Griselda took the platform and the last switch. Gleefully the hag wound up to deliver the last stinging blow across Hermione's back. Unleashing fury, Griselda seemed to take pride in producing the loudest scream yet.

Most of the stinging and bleeding whelps were distributed across Hermione's buttocks with some marks across her back and thighs. A few elves had deliberately aimed at the crease of her leg behind the knee; the intention here was to make walking difficult.

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

It was days getting over the effects of the Stinging Nettles. Bearing another dreadful custom, Hermione was denied the use of Dittany, which would have greatly quickened her recovery. The only remedy allowed was a mixture of urine mixed with dandelion tea and applied as a topical ointment by Daisy. It wasn't much on pain relief but it did reduce the itching and swelling to a tolerable degree.

When the swelling had diminished enough to get back into her regular clothes, Alfred escorted Hermione to Draco's office. The door on this morning was open wide and Alfred paused only long enough to knock on the frame. Draco must have made a visual gesture that Hermione couldn't see as Alfred motioned for her to enter and turned to leave.

She stuck her head in doorway and entered meekly. Draco's head was buried in some journal or something of the kind.

"You wanted to see me?" she asked.

He finally looked up. "Oh, Granger yes. Have a seat – you can sit, right?"

She chose not to answer, but took a seat by the fireplace. Draco took notice of her silence. To say she was still pissed after the beating was no doubt a great understatement.

"Look, I want you to understand," he began. "I didn't order that."

"No, but you sure as bloody hell stood by while I was beaten and paraded around naked."

"Technically I left the room, but I did leave strict orders that the punishment was not to get out of hand."

"You're too generous."

"I didn't call you here to argue. This incident was entirely of your own making. Just what the hell were you trying to find at the cottage?"

"Just curious I guess. It's the only thing I can see from my window?"

"Curious... well I hope it was worth it. You know, the grounds are strictly off limits for your own protection."

"My own protection – from who – you? And there was someone in there, a girl I think. She was crying."

Draco stared coldly at this remark. At length, he rose from the chair and made his way around the huge desk until standing over the witch. Hermione recoiled slightly – she didn't look up or encourage his anger. But he wasn't angry. When he spoke, he was calm and controlled.

"It's not rubbish Granger," he began. He reached out and rolled a few strands of her curly locks between his thumb and forefinger. She wanted to slap his hand away. When she didn't look up, he gently put his hands on her temples and lifted her head.

"There are Death Eaters around the property that would just as soon see you dead. Inside these walls you are relatively safe; outside you are not. Is that clear?"

"Yes," she said at length.

"Good." Draco backed up against the desk, his bum leaning on the edge. "I want you to stop this bad behavior. I want us to work again on being friends."

"Friends – now I know you're deranged. This sex between us doesn't make us friends."

"No you're right Granger. The physicality between us will not buy me friendship, but sparing your life when the Ministry wanted you dead should be enough I think."

Hermione's eyes fell to the floor for few moments before lifting them for a response.

"Just how much do I owe you," she said. "...for saving my life? I seemed to be getting along alright on my own."

"You wouldn't have done so for very much longer."

"Either way – I don't see friendship in the cards for us. Especially for those that kill my friends."

"I haven't killed any of your friends Granger... and besides," he said and paused. "...as of late you have warmed to my touch. Am I right?"

Hermione blushed scarlet. "Living as a prisoner in this hellhole. I'm not feeling friendly Malfoy."

He cracked a smile that almost turned into a chuckle.

"I suppose it's all been very difficult in your position," he went on. "But you could make it easier on yourself. You still haven't written a word in the journal like I've asked – asked _repeatedly_."

"Write in my journal? About what's going on in the war – so you can kill my friends? You're mental if you believe that."

Draco waved his hands dismissively.

"Have it your way then. But here's what I propose for now: the good correspondence addresses gave out long ago. I've been keeping you away from Griselda for as long as I could. But the truth is, she'll need help to finish the renovation project in time."

"So what's the hurry? The old hag should be able to finish it without me."

"She needs your help, and why we're in a hurry is no business of your own. What you need to know is that you will be working with her again – as soon as you've fully recovered."

Hermione fought the temptation to smile. It was exactly what she had wanted to hear. Still, she should try and stall to hide her plans.

"I'm not fully healed – my backside is still a mess."

Draco frowned at this. "Not fully healed? Are you messing with me?"

"Hell no – do I need to take off my clothes to prove it?" she said, sarcastically. "I'm quite used to taking my clothes off for anyone now."

"Just ease up Granger," he said and threw his hands up in surrender. "Maybe I should take a look at your back."

Hermione made a deep and mocking frown. She turned her back to Malfoy and reached for the buttons behind her.

"You'll have to help me with these," she spat out the request. He pushed away from the desk to assist her. He brushed the bushy hair aside and began unbuttoning the frock from behind. With the buttons down to her waist, she pulled her arms out of the short sleeves and let the front of the frock fall forward.

Malfoy canted his head to inspect the damage. He grimaced slightly. He pushed firmly on a spot below her shoulder with his finger and Hermione recoiled from the pain.

"Damn – do you have to make it worse?"

"I'm sorry, but this hasn't been attended to properly."

"No shit Malfoy. They said Dittany wasn't allowed."

"That's only for the first couple of days. But your back is infected. I told them there would be no permanent damage. Without Dittany this will scar."

"Well, it doesn't seem like they listen to you much more than they do me. Shall I dress?" she asked with exasperation in her voice.

"For sure. Can I help?"

Hermione ignored his offer and pulled up the front of the frock and wriggled her arms through the sleeves. She still struggled with the buttons.

Draco stepped forward again, and began to re-fasten her dress. He separated the bushy hair to manage the last two buttons and then placed both hands on her shoulders and turned her around.

"I'll have a bottle of Dittany sent to your room. Daisy will help you with that."

"Good, can I leave now?"

"...or _I_ can bring it myself – if you'd rather?" he said with a sly expression.

"Daisy will be fine."

.

* * *

A/N: This one turned out to be a little longer than I expected - I just can't go for the game of shorter chapters, more updates - reviews; you get the drift.

A/N2: It may seem this a story of Hermione's abuse - well, this is part 1 - been mulling over making this a three part story?

Just a big thanks to all the readers, followers, and those that faved. Hugs and kisses to annaea3077, dutch potterfan, AnnaOxford, and phoenixtearsandfeathers for the comments and feedback...


	8. The Soup Thickens

**.**

**'And since, in our passage through this world, painful circumstances occur more frequently than pleasing ones, and since our sense of evil is, I fear, more acute than our sense of good, we become the victims of our feelings, unless we can in some degree command them.' **

– **Ann Radcliff**

**.**

**The Tower Window**

**8\. The Soup Thickens**

With her backside still tender from the effects of the Stinging Nettles, Hermione made good on her promise to re-join Griselda and her band of minions. The evil hag of a house-elf had far too much on her plate to concentrate on Hermione, and with the renovation project still far from finished Draco was growing more impatient every day.

Hermione puzzled many times over the project. Why on earth was this old part of the mansion being renovated in the first place? What part if any would it serve in the future? And why the rush; was it to be a part of something soon to be important?

She had no answers for any of these questions, and on top of that no one else seemed to care, least of all the house-elves that did all the work. So on they went, working frantically, day by day, toward a goal no one understood and no one cared to question.

She had asked Daisy about these things, but as usual the little house-elf had no answers. Daisy was still recovering from a bout of guilt over giving Hermione the last, or more correctly the penultimate, swipe with the stinging Nettles. She explained to Hermione that Griselda had threatened to put her on the whipping post next if she hadn't complied. Hermione told her to forget it, but it was a thing Daisy simply could not do.

So it was back to black, and her mood had turned as dark as the black habiliments of the house-servant. Every morning the starched black frocks were laid across her bed. She had enjoyed the freedom of different clothes, and truly enjoyed writing the correspondence letters although she had feared their consequences. Those days were behind her now with just the monotony of constant labor under the critical eye of Griselda.

And the tool chest where the sharpening stone was kept: she had failed to spot it in the first week of labor. There had been no sight of it anywhere. After the knife had turned up missing, Hermione guessed Griselda kept it far from her reach.

Had it all been for nothing? The beatings, the torture, the missing meals, how much else would she be forced to endure before her mission was at an end? With no answers in sight, the revelation appeared one morning and most oddly.

Working on a bedroom window, Twinkie was struggling to get a side of draperies hung correctly. She was struggling with the hooks atop a ladder just barely tall enough for the job. Hermione was lifting the bottom of the draperies to relieve the weight that Twinkie was struggling to hold. Hermione worked hard to keep the fine fabric off the floors, but even with their combined effort it wasn't going so well.

"Twinkie, come down here, let me do that."

"No Miss – just a little more time," said the determined elf.

Twinkie was mumbling to herself when voices from out in the corridor were heard over Twinkie's. Hermione could hear the head house-elf address others as they moved down the corridor. She could see them stopped in the corridor, looking into a bedroom opposite from their own.

From the smell of it, she guessed it was a couple of Death Eaters and Alfred was showing off the new construction. One of the men turned sideways and Hermione recognized the Death Eater to be Blaise Zabini. He had changed a lot since school days. He was taller but with a hirsute and haggard appearance, no doubt brought on by the ravages of the war, but it was definitely Zabini. There was no doubt about that.

As Zabini stepped away from the doorway, the other man stepped into view – it was Theodore Nott. So Malfoy was showing his friends around the mansion. Any moment now they would turn their attention away from the empty bedroom and toward her and Twinkie. It was well known that Zabini maintained an egregious dislike of Mudbloods. In all probability Nott cared little for her kind as well. They would, no doubt, want to make sport of her situation or worse. Adding to her concern, Draco was no where around today to come to her assistance.

Twinkie had come down from the ladder and Hermione was about to proceed up when she felt a gnarly hand wrench tightly around her wrist. It was Griselda, and she was pulling her away from the window and the corridor door. Griselda then turned to Twinkie and placed her gnarly index finger over her lips. She led Hermione to a corner of the room and opened a closet door. She pushed Hermione into the closet and said one word before closing the door.

"Quiet."

With no idea what was going on, Hermione had no trouble following orders on this one. Perhaps Blaise's hatred of Muggle-borns had worsened since school. She stood there quietly in the dark closet and listened as the Head house-elf talked them through the renovations. Uncomfortable and trying better to hear the conversation, Hermione moved her foot a little and hit something solid. It made a slight rattling noise. The talking outside was still going on but not growing closer. Curious she reached down to feel what her foot had hit.

Impossible luck – it was the toolbox! Could she manage to find the stone in the dark? She would only have the time provided by Zabini and Nott's distraction. There was no time to waste.

She could only afford to get down on one knee. In the darkness she couldn't tell but there would have to be dust on the floor and it would leave tell-tale marks on the black shirt. She would have to remember to brush the skirt clean.

Genuflecting over the box, she rummaged through it's contents as quietly as possible. This was critical. Whatever danger Griselda was protecting her from had to be real, she reasoned. She felt around in the box, trying to mentally catalog the location of every item without a sound. She gently felt and groped, doing her best to identify the items. She felt a file, a hammer, a small level, several chisels. W_hy didn't she find these the first time, they'd make excellent weapons._ There was a framing square, a tapeline, and nail extractor. But no small rectangular stone. Had it been imagination when she first saw it? She didn't think so.

The voices outside were beginning to fade. She'd have only a few seconds more until Griselda yanked open the door and caught her rummaging through the tool box. Another beating?

It had to be there – somewhere in the box. More than likely it wasn't a commonly used item. Thinking it might be in one of the corners, she began to gently move items aside to find the corners. One, two; the voices had stopped. In the third corner and nestled perfectly was the stone. She fished it out and struggled to her feet.

Where to put it? Quickly Hermione – where to put it?

With footsteps approaching her closet door there was no time for personal debates. Without pockets, and a collar buttoned securely above her clavicle, it would have to go into her knickers. With very little to no time, she turned her backside away from the door and lifted her hem. This should give her a moment if the door was suddenly thrust open. Holding the hem with one hand she pulled the knickers away from her backside and dropped the stone in.

There was no time to adjust it for the best fit as the door cracked open. She quickly dropped the hem and put her hands over her eyes to block the excess light. Standing in the door Griselda looked at Hermione pretending to be blinded by the light and the toolbox beside her feet.

"Come along," she barked. Hermione was frozen to the spot. She had not dusted her shirt. Would it be obvious to Griselda, she'd been down on her hands and knees. She could only pray the closet floor had been swept.

Griselda led her to the door of the bedroom and paused to look out the corridor. She looked both ways before leading Hermione into the corridor. While Griselda was busy looking down the corridor, Hermione made a quick attempt to brush her skirt. With no time to adjust her clothes, the sharpening stone was resting awkwardly in Hermione's Granny pants. After a few steps forward she now feared the whole thing might come down around her knees. Wit Griselda marching forward at a quick clip, Hermione reached behind her to keep the stone nestled roughly between her arse cheeks.

Finally they were at the door to enter the tower stairwell. Griselda let go of Hermione's hand to work the latch and open the door. She pulled her through the entry way, glanced back down the long corridor one last time, and then closed the door.

She shook a gnarly finger in Hermione's face. "Don't you move – don't you move an inch until Daisy comes for you."

Completely perplexed by this whole thing, Hermione desperately wanted to ask what the hell was going on but guessed it would only exacerbate the hag to violence. One look at Griselda's hard expression argued convincingly against it. With one last snarl, Griselda left her to her thoughts while she disappeared down the long corridor.

She stood there for a few minutes, wondering still what the hell was going on; with the honing stone squeezed tightly between her bum cheeks, she waited patiently for Daisy.

After a time Hermione was about to lift her lift her hem to adjust the position of the stone, which was growing uncomfortable. With her hand on her hem, the patter of footsteps announced the little elf.

"We must be getting up Miss," said Daisy, almost out of breath. The elf paused as if expecting Hermione to lead the way.

"After you," Hermione replied, knowing she had to walk behind the elf.

Easily persuadable and with a built-in desire to please, Daisy smiled and started up the treacherous stairway. Hermione followed in tow with one hand on her arse to hold the stone in place.

Negotiating the stairs with her right hand along the wall and her left on her bum, Hermione followed Daisy until they were safely standing outside her door.

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

Hermione would spend the remainder of the day in her room. Given a change of clothes, fresh jeans, and a warm cardigan, she was instructed to begin writing in her journal.

First, and before Daisy returned, she'd have to get the chair in position and hide the honing stone behind the stove pipe. With that chore completed and the chair back in place she was free to explore her thoughts.

Things at the Manor felt stranger than ever: first this eery presence at the cottage, and now this business with Blaise and Nott. Did the Ministry really hate her that much? Was it was possible that details of her earlier assignments had leaked? If they _had_ leaked then the Ministry's hatred of her might have ratcheted up a notch.

Life for her changed drastically after the hard split with Ron. At first their separation seemed fair enough, but it wasn't long before he began seeing other witches in earnest. Her life and work with the Order felt washed out and meaningless. She had given Ron the most precious thing a woman has to offer – but it didn't seem to be enough. For a while she was devastated – then she rebounded with a vengeance. She made up her mind about one thing. No matter what happened after the war – Ronald Weasley would never have a chance to get back the old Hermione Granger. That girl would be gone forever.

Her thoughts spun back to her first 'assignment'.

There had been a young Death Eater that had come to join the already corrupt Ministry from Bulgaria. He was thought to have much information, and the Order needed it badly. It was considered a training mission – risky but not very dangerous. Malfoy certainly didn't need to hear this story – it would spook him for sure. Matter of fact, no one needed to know the specifics. A woman's heart was a well of deep secrets.

The Death Eater was reputed to be a ladies man and it had been calculated that he would approach her without caution if she made herself available. She dressed like a tart and hung around pubs for days before the wizard found her. The assignment occurred after her rebirth, so to speak. It was a time when she was looking and feeling much better, and her attention was much sought after by the young wizards on their side. Harry reluctantly approached her with the plan. She was instructed that on the first opportunity she was to stun the wizard. After that and when he was bound with the Incarcerous curse, she could use Veritaserum or whatever means at her disposal to acquire the information. The only problem was that the 'first opportunity' was a long time coming. The wily and handsome wizard turned out to be very cautious and wary.

Even after heavy snogging the handsome Bulgarian was still watching her every move. She almost left several times but the vision of dead friends helped her stay the course. It was near morning before she could get to her wand.

When finally she obtained the information, she had been told to eliminate the wizard or make sure by any means available that he woulds never be able to speak of the encounter.

Of course she couldn't kill him. In her fourth year she'd been unable to watch Alastor Moody's double use the Avada Kedavra on an over-sized bug. The bug was innocent. The Death Eater was young.

She took his memories instead. Hermione would remain as true to herself as was possible in this war. There would be a time after the war, if she survived, to make amends for the evil she had done.

:

There was a knock on the door followed by the unlatching the lock from the outside. It was Daisy. She had a small tray with Hermione's lunch. Hermione wondered how she ever managed the staircase with that.

"Thank you Daisy. You're so sweet."

"It's no problem Miss – it's no problem at all."

"Daisy – what on earth is going on today, do you know?"

Daisy's large forehead wrinkled. A sure sign she was having trouble with the question.

"I canno say Miss. Daisy is never told of these things."

"Oh, alright Daisy. I understand."

With that, the little house elf curtsied and excused herself. Hermione listened to her footsteps quickly fade and took her scant meal by the window. When that was over – and it wouldn't be long. She would be on her own for the rest of the day. This tower was like a prison. What she wouldn't give for a good book.

It would be the perfect time to experiment with the stone, but she didn't dare. It's absence might be discovered. Unlike the knife, she didn't think it would be immediately noticed but she couldn't risk using it during the daylight hours.

Out of an act of desperation, she finally drug the writing desk up to the window. Of course she wouldn't be able to tell Malfoy anything relevant. She would make stories up: something related to the truth, just not quite.

Mid-afternoon and writing away, Hermione had compiled quite the pile of bullshit. Would Malfoy buy any of it? Who gives a damn, was her final thoughts on the matter. At least it kept her busy.

Fingers cramping, she was taking a break to admire her work. She looked at the stories and laughed, but then a movement in the garden caught her attention She leaned over the desk to look out the only clean patch in the window.

Two men were walking toward the stone cottage. When their heads turned to address the other she could see what appeared to be Zabini and Nott. If she hadn't seen them earlier in the morning she wouldn't have recognized them – but here you are – it had to be them. They were both backslapping and appeared to be in the most jovial mood. What on earth did this mean? Her curiosity over the contents of the stone cottage was unbearably poignant at this very moment.

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

It was another full day before Hermione could return to work. The boredom had become unbearable but the good news was: the honing stone had never been missed. She guessed because it was seldom used and inconspicuous that no one had come to miss it.

With constant application of Dittany by Daisy every morning, Hermione's backside was none the worse for the wear. There was no scars or blemishes of any kind.

It was not long after that that Malfoy came to her room for a visit. He was very considerate and made sure to examine her back and back-side for any lasting effects of the Stinging Nettles. The bastard seemed genuinely pleased that there were none.

He ran his fingers down her back, gently plying the skin for any lingering maladies that might still be present. Of course this was a prelude to foreplay, which took place very soon and in earnest. In the ensuing sex between them, Hermione was as cold as a well digger's arse in February.

"Now what's wrong?" he asked. "Your back appears to be recovered." He was of course referring to the Stinging Nettles.

"Perhaps the wounds were more than skin deep."

"Damnit Granger – what is it then – what do you need to recover?"

"Living here is a torment Malfoy. For several days I was locked in this tiny fucking room... with nothing to do. And what the hell was that all about."

"You had the journal here. Writing in the journal Granger – that's your key to better conditions. I told you that from the beginning."

"And I wrote in it..."

"...and it was all bullshit."

Hermione turned away from Malfoy. She stood by the window naked.

"Get away from the window," he said.

"I want my things back."

"Things? What things?"

"The things in my bag – there were many you didn't return."

"We haven't inspected them all."

"It's been months."

"More like weeks Granger."

"It's been almost two months. Can I have my books backs."

"Books?"

"Yes the two small books – I want them back please."

"Damnit Granger – get away from the window."

"How the hell does it matter?" she asked and didn't budge.

Malfoy reached and grabbed her by the shoulders. He quickly spun her around and pulled her away from the window.

"G'damnit Granger. Do what I tell you – it matters okay?"

Malfoy pulled her to him, chest to chest. Her skin was cold from the window. He looked for her eyes but she turned them away. He held her until she was warm then released her. Thwarted by her silence, he left the room via the still squeaking door.

If fact she did miss reading the books, but her story was a subterfuge. The real value of books had little to do with reading and more with the fact that they were enhanced with a valuable spell. Surely if they inspected them thoroughly the magic would be detected. Malfoy, the horny devil, he longed for warmth from her again; perhaps he would buy her story about being bored and bring them before the spell was discovered.

If the loss of the stone went undetected and he delivered her books unaltered, the plan would be almost complete. There would be only one more difficult task – maybe he most difficult in her life.

.

* * *

**A/N:** Has it been so long since the last chapter? Oh dear – yes it has. Struggled with Hermione's back story. How much to tell?

Simply the best and most heartfelt comments yet. A special thanks to annaea3077, AnnaOxford, dutch potterfan, phoenixtearsandfeathers, and marianna79. You guys are great. Until the next, a sincere thanks goes out to all for reading.


	9. Honing The Edge

**.**

**'Always remember, with a strong enough will, even the weak can wield great power.'**

**Kate Morton, The Forgotten Garden**

**.**

**The Tower Window**

**9\. Honing The Edge**

When Hermione returned from her shower the next morning, two small books were laying on her bed. They were two leather bound chapbooks, she had owned since she was very young. Both consisted of a collection of poetry and youthful ballads. To Draco's eyes, they fit the bill convincingly as endearing keepsakes.

She first picked up _The Poems of Poledouris _and quickly thumbed through the pages. Satisfied, she lay it down gently and then quickly scanned through _Classic Ballads by Blablabla_ and examined its contents the same way. Was the magic still intact? Without a wand there could be no immediate answer. Both had been enhanced before undertaking the mission with the powerful Protean charm.

Since arriving at Malfoy Manor, she had been unable to communicate with the Order. It had been months now – would Harry and the Order figure her for dead? Recalling some fond and not so fond memories from her school days, the Protean charm had twice been used with great success. They had applied the charm on fake coins to contact members of Dumbledore's Army. This had served to broadcast simple date notifications to all the members. When one coin was changed all the other coins would reflect the same change.

They used them again when the Army convened in the Room of Requirement to avoid Snape and the Carrows before the Battle of Hogwarts. Unfortunately, it had been Malfoy that discovered the coin's secret. Had he done the same with the books? There was only one way to find out.

She had arrived at the Manor in September. It was now December the second. The math was simple: two times twelve was twenty four. Using the second book for months seven through twelve, she wrote _Hedwig – OK_ in the margin of page twenty four of _Classic Ballads_. _Hedwig_ was a code name to begin the communication. The messages would begin with animal that the trio encountered sequentially, beginning in their first year. Harry thought it up, but Hermione never cared for the plan, thinking it too simple to break.

With any luck there would be a response when she returned to her room tonight.

There a sharp rap on he door; her escort to the morning work project was here and she'd not yet began to dress.

"Just a minute please – I've had some trouble with the frock."

There was a moment or two of silence. As with all houses-elves this one seemed troubled with decisions.

"I'll fetch Daisy – be ready in five minutes or face punishment," said the elf and disappeared with the slapping of fleshy feet.

Scrambling at the behest of the elf, Hermione began with the clothes. She barely noticed Daisy let her herself in.

"What's the matter Miss – is something wrong?"

"Oh, I'm sorry Daisy. I just lost track of time – but I had to make up some excuse."

"And it's a good thing you did Miss. It's a good thing you did. Griselda is in some kind of mood this morning. You best be careful."

Hurrying as quickly she could, Hermione wriggled into the long black hose and struggled with the buttons running down the front of the black frock. A few seconds more, with the ridiculous white cap in place, and she was breezing out the door with Daisy in tow.

Once in the corridor Griselda spotted the pair.

"You're late," she spat the words.

"A button broke – and I needed Daisy's help," lied Hermione.

Griselda stood there unyielding, holding Hermione in her poisonous gaze.

"Get to work," she said at last. Hermione nodded and started away. "Over here," croaked the hag, and Hermione ducked into the room the elf pointed to.

All day, Hermione would catch Griselda with her evil gaze trained on her. Had the Hag come to find out the stone was missing? If she did, she never said a word and the group continued to work like dogs all day.

In the course of her labors, Hermione bore witness to an event she had not see before. Two house-elves, of whom she was not at all familiar, were working in one of the bedrooms. Apparently the two were removing stones from the wall for the addition of an en-suite bathroom. Easy enough one might think, but the elves had to address each stone with strange magic.

Apparently the northeast wing of the mansion more resembled a castle. If one tried to remove a stone or knock it loose it would snap back in place. Hogwarts was built with similar magic, and the castle appeared to have a mind of it's own in terms of layout and construction.

She didn't get to watch for very long. Griselda caught her shirking her duties watching the magical craftsman and came running. With glee, the warted hag of a house-elf applied a long ruler to the back of Hermione's legs as a bitter reminder.

For the rest of the day they toiled away in unheated rooms. Now into the shorter days of winter, they seemed to work into the night as well. Several times during the day, when Hermione would stop to catch her breath or blow hot breath in her hands to warm them, Griselda would catch her in her threatening gaze.

Hermione had steeled herself to the fact this day might go on forever when at last Griselda signaled an end to all labors. As a horde of house-elves dispersed, she leaned wearily against the wall and looked for Daisy to show up at any time. Even though Hermione was very tired she was also very excited and eager to get back to the books.

Of all nights – Daisy was late. Alfred and Griselda were discussing the work inside one of the rooms and were not aware Hermione was standing alone in the corridor. Their babbling continued until they came out of the room and hit the corridor. The talking ended abruptly and they froze. Both elves stared at Hermione as if to say, 'what the hell are you doing here?'.

Although completely inviolate, Hermione still felt the situation to be very uncomfortable. Alone and idle in the presence of Griselda and Alfred was no place to be. She had already been late once today and she needed no more foul ups. She turned away from the menacing figures and looked helplessly down the corridor as if she could wish the little house-elf along.

The gesture must have worked as Daisy rounded the corner; trotting along as fast as her over-sized and fleshy feet could carry her. Without looking back, Hermione left Griselda and Alfred behind her and made off quickly to join Daisy.

As was the practice every day, and with this day being no exception, Hermione followed Daisy straight-away to her room. After unlocking the door the little elf lingered just long enough to collect Hermione's clothes as she stripped to the buff. Daisy wrapped everything up in the black frock while Hermione changed into the heavy nightshirt and the fluffy house-slippers. They exchanged a little small talk before Daisy bid her a goodnight and scampered off with the ball of clothes.

Hiding her excitement, Hermione turned toward the books as soon as the latch closed shut. With trembling fingers, she opened _Classic Ballads by Blablabla _and turned to page twenty four. In the margin, her original note had been magically erased and replaced by a new one.

:

_Scabbers - You had us worried. Stay in touch._

:

Hermione looked at the short message and gasped. She closed the book and placed it back under _The Poems of Poledouris._

She had done it – she had communicated with the Order! Scabbers was the second keyword. She couldn't believe Malfoy was so thick as to not examine the books for magic. It had been another mistake in a long line of mistakes he had made since her arrival. He'd turned out to be a cocky and over-confident toss-pot. First it was the knife. Apparently he never dreamed a Muggleborn and wandless witch could ever provide a threat to anyone as great as himself. And this sexual arrangement between them, it was completely mental. Never make a deal with the enemy as the saying goes. Well, she guessed Malfoy had never heard the saying.

Well it would be his undoing. And to celebrate, she would begin sharpening the knife after taking her small meal. Warming on the hob was a small bowl of soup and a sandwich. Beside that was a mug of tea and a bottle of water cooling on the window sill.

Just thinking about the message made her miss home. She hurried through the meal and moved the chair just under the stovepipe hiding place. With the knife and stone in hand, she moved the chair back to the window and went to work.

The square tip of the putty knife had been re-shaped into a triangular tip but the edge was rounded and smooth. The underside of the sill could only shape but not sharpen in it's present condition. The honing stone should be able to complete that process.

With the stone on the window sill, Hermione drug and pushed the edge of the knife over the stone forcefully until bits and pieces of shiny metal were left behind on the stone. Remembering her Muggle Studies, she spit on the stone. A whetstone she remembered would suspend the metal shavings in saliva above the stone, not allowing them to embed into the cutting surface of the stone. Every so often, she would have to take a drink of water and wipe the stone clean with the bottom of the fluffy house slippers.

:

It was well into the night when the door latch began to rattle. Someone on the outside was trying to get in. Mumblings through the door sounded like Alfred, but she couldn't make them out.

"..ive it a ood pu..."

The door moved an inch but didn't open. Hermione had driven a makeshift wedge under the door at nights but it would only buy her a few moments time.

Another voice chimed in. It was definitely Griselda and this was definitely a surprise spot check. They must have missed the stone after all. That would certainly explain the evil looks all day from Griselda.

She was caught red handed this time, and fear coursed through her veins. She could see the mission going to hell in a hand-basket. What to do – what could she do? The wedge would give way any moment now.

"It's moving – let go the door," ordered Griselda loud and clear.

There was only one thing left to do. Quickly Hermione opened the door to the stove and threw the stone and the knife into the pile of orange burning coals. She jumped behind the desk and pretended to write just as the door burst open. With all her weight on the door Griselda fell forward and almost took a tumble. It was all Hermione could do avoid laughing. She wanted to laugh but could already feel Griselda's lash across her back and the cold sting of Dittany to erase the scars.

"Get OUT!" demanded Griselda as she stood over the room threateningly. Knowing resistance was futile, Hermione rose from the desk. Now waiting outside the room, Hermione shivered in the cold with only a nightshirt on her back while Griselda and Alfred made a wreck of her room.

The 'big girl', who'd been the first one to give Hermione a swat with the Stinging Nettles, stood a close watch over her every move. Another house-elf, but not as big as the first one, backed up Big Girl with a stick as tall as she was.

Now shaking from the cold, Hermione could only listen as Alfred and Griselda continued their destructive shakedown. The two elves guarding her would occasionally look her way to grin. No doubt they figured her to be in deep trouble on this one. When the noise subsided and the destruction finally came to an end, Alfred and Griselda exited the small room with long faces.

Without an apology or word of any kind, they shoved her back in the small room and locked the door from the outside. Everything was a mess – a total mess. The desk and bed were laying in pieces in the floor. Even the stove pipe had been taken down, exposing the old hiding place. It had been crudely re-assembled. That would have to be corrected before the night was over.

First things first, she would have to quickly rescue the knife and stone. With the poker, Hermione pulled and raked the knife and stone to the front of the stove. With what water was left-over, she poured the remainder of her drink over the coals that surrounded the items. But it was not enough to quench the coals and the whetstone cracked in two when cooled so quickly by the water.

Rescuing the items would require desperate measures. Being cooped up in her room all day, there was pee in the chamber pot. Maybe just enough to put out the coals. Carefully pouring the pee over the items, now nestled toward the front, the coals went out with a hiss and jet of white ashes.

Still hot, Hermione reached into the stove to extract the knife and the two pieces of stone. Dropping them as quickly as she got them out, she managed with only a few blisters. The stone was now broken into two more conveniently sized pieces and the handle of the knife had been burned into black charcoal. The blade itself was relatively unharmed with a new bluish hue added to the steel. The temper of the steel might had been altered but should still be okay.

:

It took several days to get the room back in shape, but the knife and pieces of whetstone were safe and sound. Griselda's failure to catch Hermione only added to her foul mood as the project fell further behind schedule.

Once more she thought she spotted Blaise and Theo trotting off toward the cottage with lanterns, but she couldn't be sure. The wooden handle had crumbled away like charcoal and was replaced with thick layers of tape. The stone, broken in two by the fire, was actually more manageable in the new smaller size.

So wiling away the long nights, Hermione toiled steadily on the blade. At first, it began to brighten and then took on a less rounded shape. Finally it was two flat planes intersecting on a straight keen edge. Finally the edge became invisible and the homemade tool was sharp enough to shave the hair off your arm.

Only one thing required further polishing: her nerve.

:

* * *

**A/N:** A short chapter; the story is getting close to part two. The next chapter should have a little something for everyone - including the fruit lovers. :)

Till the next: A sincere thanks to dutch potterfan, PersonalJesus, AnnaOxford, annaea3077, phoenixtearsandfeathers, and magnoliaorchard for all their comments. Also a warm thanks for all the faves and follows and to each and everyone for reading.


	10. When Duty Calls

**A/N:** Just a reminder. Before plunging into this chapter, please review the **Contents** and **Ratings** sections at the top of chapter 1.

* * *

'For life and death are one, even as the river and the sea are one.'

Khalil Gibran

'It is for God to punish wicked people; we should learn to forgive.'

– Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights

**.**

**The Tower Window**

**10\. When Duty Calls**

**.**

Never in her years, not one single time, could she ever remember a storm so terrible in the middle of winter. The thunder rolled and shook, the lighting hissed and popped, and the window rattled in the frame all night. The tower itself seemed to sway from the gale force winds. She thought several times the tower with her in it would surely topple in the night.

Sleeping only in the lulls of the storm, she got up once to light a candle. The storm was too fierce to sit by the window so she propped up a pillow and sat in bed. She watched the lightning illuminate the vast grounds and the walls of her tiny chamber. She wondered how in the hell life had come to this. It was time to have a talk with her innermost self.

It wouldn't be long now. She had drug her feet for as long as she dared. One morning, very soon now, Draco Malfoy would come to her room and she would have to complete the mission. She had begun to think more and more about the reality of this. She might not survive it. _Who and the hell are you kidding Hermione; you know you won't. _Nevertheless Hermione steeled herself to continue. It was, after all, the only way out.

Hermione knew herself to be a compassionate creature who loved life and all living things. To do what she had to do now ran contradictory to her nature. Nothing Draco Malfoy had done to her as a child could ever warrant what she was about to do now. She had to be sure of that. She had to be sure in her heart this was not an act of vindictiveness. No, it was not that, she assured herself; when Draco Malfoy locked her up into this room he'd been the one to declare casus belli.

:

The morning began only a little better than the night. The effects of the storm were mostly gone except for persistent winds that continued to rattle her window. When she and Daisy returned from her shower her heart leapt into her throat. There was a black negligee on the bed. The morning was now.

Spending a little more time with Daisy this morning, she was especially affectionate with the little house-elf. There was no way for Daisy to know this might be their last meeting. She kissed the elf on the head and wished her a good day, but Hermione knew that she probably wouldn't have one. She would most likely be questioned and might be considered guilty by association or something just as ridiculous.

She had almost come to enjoy the wispy lingerie. She liked the way it felt against her skin. She was amused by the mood it created and the way it made her feel: naughty but a bit nice. If she survived the war, she just might have to indulge in these again. But this garment was unlike the others Malfoy had chosen. Normally they were as thin as a cloud and nearly transparent, but this one wasn't. It was a slick satiny material with spaghetti straps and a low neckline. It hugged her curves. Well Malfoy, she said to herself. I hope you enjoy taking it off of me.

She made a few quick checks around her room while stepping into the matching heeled slippers Malfoy always insisted on. Everything looked fine. She had tried to steal away a change of clothes but could only manage to nip one pair of jeans and a pair of ballet flats. The dressing gown was still folded over the back of the chair. She would have to wear that as top when she made her getaway.

The knife she had spent so much time with was stuck in the side of the mattress nearest the wall. It was stabbed into the mattress like you would stick a knife in the end of a loaf of french bread. The head of her bed was lying in such a way so she could pull it with her left hand. With Malfoy on top of her she would throw her right arm around his neck and stab him with the left hand. Vital areas would include the liver and the lungs.

There was only one last thing to do. She grabbed up _Classic Ballads by Blablabla _and wrote in the margin of the correct page: Fluffy – It's on for this morning – stone cottage behind the manor – meet me.

Someone must have been assigned to watch the book. The response was almost immediate: Norbert – Will be there shortly.

So it was all set. Everything was in order – if only she could stop her nerves and the trembling fingers. Damnit, would her nerves betray her plans at the last minute? Would the mission and the whole war be lost with one uncontrollable display of the shakes? She had to calm down and steel herself. But how – how the hell do you do that Hermione? She took a series of deep breaths, but that just made her dizzy and she shook all the same.

She was suddenly reprimanded by something deep in her self-conscious that welled up inside. _This is a performance Hermione – an act – a job – just like it's always been._ _Concentrate on the performance_ – and that's what she did. When Malfoy slithered in through the door, Hermione was at her most sultry self.

As usual, Malfoy began with a few comments in his best attempt to be clever. Hermione remained slightly aloof and detached.

"After last night, I didn't expect you."

"You mean after the storm?"

"Yes," she said, but looking away all the time.

"It wasn't exactly a good night for sleeping. I thought about you up here – up here all alone. I thought about coming up, but I didn't." he explained.

"Well... maybe you should've - at least it would have helped me fall back to sleep."

This aroused the wizard and he moved in closer to run his hands over the slick fabric. Like a gift waiting to be unwrapped he couldn't resist getting the gown off her. He raised her arms over her head and then pulled her hem waist high. He gently caressed and rubbed his way up until the hem was above her shoulders and then jerked the whole thing off.

She turned her around to face him as he stepped out of his dressing gown. He rubbed and fondled her again before guiding her to the edge of the bed. Continuing to rub and caress skin, he tweaked her nipples and let his hand drift down to her knee and then back up. Gently prying her thighs apart he went exploring.

For all the playacting she was still nervous – she was so tense it felt like she might develop a cramp. Would he notice how stiff her muscles were? When his hands and fingers reached the target she was as dry as a sandbox.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Oh... it's just the storm I suppose. I was tense all night."

"Lie back," he instructed. He pushed her head to the foot of the bed. Damn – now her plan was going to hell in a hand basket. She had to think of something quick.

She grabbed his head and pulled him to her breasts. He allowed this with no protest.

"You can make it better Malfoy," she said and pushed on the top of his head. "You know what to do. I've had a shower – I'm all clean down there. It won't bite. Or don't you do this sort of thing with Mudbloods," she teased.

He made no sounds of protest, but let his tongue slither and snake down her belly. He teased for a while before his tongue continued down to the fiery hot button to her brain.

Part of her reactions were for show and part were for real. Her belly began to quiver and then rolled. She grabbed a handful of white hair and pulled. All the time she wriggled and twisted until she was back at the head of the bed.

At the moment of crescendo, his flicking tongue shook her timbers like an old boat in a storm. He paused for only a moment and then pulled his hands out from under her ass. He was eager to have her his way and there was nothing now to stop him. He climbed on top to make a go for it. This time there was no resistance and they each moaned in relief.

She had a plan for how long she would let him go before she pulled the knife. Mercifully, she had finally come to the decision to let him go all the way. She needed him as tired and as distracted as possible. And after all – if things went her way it would be his last.

So following a now familiar plan, Hermione feigned extra movements with her arms and hands as a diversion : first she reached over her head to grip the bars of the headboard. White knuckled, her hands gripped the sheets at the edges of the bed. Finally she clawed at Malfoy's back. Perhaps this way he wouldn't be alerted when she reached out for the knife.

Galloping steadily all this time, Malfoy's breath began to shorten. At last, little goose pimples signaled he was near. Hermione feigned rapture while hands clawed and walked to the edge of the bed. When his head collapsed on her chest she could mentally bear the wait no longer. The left hand went out to feel around on the the edge of the bed until it was filled with the taped handle of the knife.

With a deep breath and a short prayer she locked her right arm around Malfoy's neck. He didn't seem to resist. No doubt the egotistical wizard mistook the meaning. The knife, ensconced in the mattress, came out of it's hiding place to begin the attack. Like a flick of lighting from the night before Hermione drove the shining steel in Malfoy's side with a 'plop' that sounded like slapping a melon.

Already she could feel the hot sticky blood. Malfoy tried to jerk away from her grip only to pull her into a sitting position. Once more she came down with the knife – a little high this time to go for the lungs. She felt the knife hit something hard and she heard a crack. It must have hit a rib, and she didn't have a secure enough grip, with the blood-covered and a taped handle, to drive it home.

Finally he pulled free and stood by the bed. Poor Malfoy, he had not finished after all. He stood there surreal with fluids spurting out of the front and back. When the shock and surprise was over, he reached behind him and pulled the knife from the bone and let it fall to the floor. With the blood still pouring, he slipped back into the robe.

"You BITCH," he spat and staggered out the door.

A bit shaken, Hermione froze for only a few moments before gathering herself to evaluate. One attack with the knife had succeeded. The first: a low hit probably found the liver, but the second to the lung had failed.

_Don't just sit here on your arse here Hermione – go finish it._ He would, no doubt, be struggling on the narrow staircase. She would stab him again or push him off the stairs into the abyss below. Maybe they would both go off together, but one way or another the wizard had to die.

Grabbing up the knife, she wiped the blood off the handle and raced out the door, naked. Approaching the first steps, she heard a scream and then silence. She continued down to see bloody hand prints on the wall and a puddle of blood beneath them. On the next step there was a smear going off the edge.

Malfoy must have paused to collect himself and then slipped to his death on the very next step.

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

She was suddenly overcome by a mental fog, but managed to find her way back to the tiny room. Escape – she had to remind herself to make good her escape. The mission would not be complete until she did. Still, with emotions running through her head, she cared little for such things. If she met her end at least her side in the war had a chance. Malfoy was surely dead.

She could still felt his touch from a few moments earlier. Shaking off these thoughts, she wiped herself clean with the towel and wriggled into the jeans and ballet flats. Using the dressing gown for a top, she cinched and tied the belt tightly. With the knife in hand, she was ready to make good her escape.

Out the door, Hermione carefully negotiated the blood-covered stairs where Malfoy fell. She continued down to the door to the first level. With the greatest of luck and probably because Malfoy didn't want to be bothered with a key, the door was still unlocked.

With all the elves busy with their day to day routines the corridors were nearly empty. One young house-elf, tarrying in the corridor, was shocked to see Hermione running toward her. With the knife in the elf's face Hermione put her finger to her lips. The little house-elf complied with huge glassy eyes.

Quickly, Hermione made her way to Malfoy's office. She wrenched open the drawer where he had stowed her wand. She poured the contents on the floor but the wand was not there. The bastard had moved it. She looked around for any other wands but found nothing that could serve as an impromptu weapon.

So she would continue alone with only the knife for defense. If she ran into another witch or wizard the game would be over. Reversing her course Hermione ran through the great hall toward the foyer she had used to escape the first time. Along the way she encountered no more elves. The feeling she would be caught at the last moment grew stronger with each step. With the foyer in sight her heart lifted for the first time in months.

She burst through the last door to the open grounds and took in the daylight, natural, and in it's purest form with no windows to dim it's wonder or block it fragrant sweetness. It was the first she'd seen in months. The cool air was so sweet it smelled like perfume. Sprinting to the corner of the house she paused to study the cottage. There were no outward signs – good or bad.

Running through the grass was difficult; the ground was soggy from all the rain. Halfway to the cottage she could see two figures standing on the porch. Feeling a bit of a chill now, she pulled the gown around her a little tighter. Her eyes never leaving the cottage, the two figures appeared to step inside and disappear. Perhaps it was members of the order. It was possible they didn't see her; maybe it was even Harry or Ron. She quickened her pace and the cottage was close now.

Almost out of breath, she paused to study the cabin at a much closer distance. There were no clues as to the occupants. Had the Order come as she had directed or was something else going on here. She stopped and stared and listened. There were voices inside, but none that she recognized.

But now, a voice in her head overruled: _Hermione run – get your arse out of here_.

She had just turned to run when the sound of someone speaking froze her in her tracks.

"You're not leaving are you Granger? You'll miss the party."

She glanced behind her to confirm her worse fears and ran full out as hard as she could go. The move was useless if not a little childish. Blaise apparated five steps in front of her with his wand pointed between her eyes. She slid, almost stumbling, to stop short.

"That's rude Granger. Don't you think she's rude Theo?"

With another hiss and a pop Theo apparated in behind her.

"It makes me think you don't care to see us Granger," replied Theo.

Hermione's chin fell to her chest. She could only hope the Order would be along any second, but she feared, in the back of her mind, that something had gone horribly wrong.

"I think there's someone inside you'd like to meet Granger."

Hermione refused to move or speak.

"The conversation is a little one sided. Shall we go inside – or will we have to drag you?"

One hard look at these two and Hermione sensed a lack of cooperation would be foolish. She didn't intend to go quietly in the night but two against one with no wand was very poor odds. In times like this she wondered how she ever got into this business. She knew it had something to do with Ron Weasley.

With Blaise and Theo behind her, she reluctantly assented to walk the twelve paces back to the cottage. Hermione paused at the door, truly afraid of who or what might be inside. Would she find a friend, a family member, or a loved one?

When she passed under the gable she had to force herself to look. It was not at all who she expected to find but just as shocking nonetheless. She saw herself. She saw Hermione Granger laying there curled naked on the floor in a bed of rags.

She froze at the sight and then turned toward Blaise and Theo for clarification. They stood there grinning but offered no words.

"What is this?" she finally asked. Nott and Zabini guffawed till they almost choked.

"Ol Drakie boy – thought he'd pulled a fast one didn't he? Thought he'd offer us up this slapper, the spitting image of Hermione Granger."

"With the help of Polyjuice Potion," added Theo.

"Indeed he did. When we saw you stumbling toward the cottage we went looking for the potion."

"We sure did," injected Theo, smiling. "And found a whole case hidden under that blanket."

"So old Draco has kept you hidden away in the manor all this time?"

"Kept her for himself, he did."

"Can't say I blame him much," said Blaise, locked onto Hermione with eager eyes.

"What the hell are you talking about?" she asked.

"Part of the agreement Granger: to win your stay of execution that is, was to keep you locked up in here," he said and pointed to the walls of the cottage. "But Draco broke his agreement with the Ministry... and he lied to us."

"Damn sure did," said Theo. "You were supposed to be here for all of us." He thumped himself on the chest.

"But we were cheated," said Baise and pointed to the girl in the floor.

"Sorry to disappoint you boys."

Blaise smiled and pointed to her like: _you got me there._

"Well, we don't intend to be disappointed for much longer." Blaise aimed his wand at Hermione and gave it a little twist. The belt on her gown unknotted itself and fell limp at her side. Realizing she was about to have her clothes magically ripped away from her body, she raised her hands to stop them. She intended to survive this and she'd need them later, besides the knife was still in the gown pocket. Casually, she removed the gown, and placed it over the headboard with the pocket in reach.

"Bold as brass, this one."

Satisfied for only a few moments, Blaise pointed his wand lower, indicating her jeans were next. Hermione swallowed hard and shook her head. She would refuse to take them off the way she had the gown. Besides, maybe they would waste valuable time trying to get them off her.

It didn't take that much time - maybe two seconds. Blaise used a quick cutting spell to shed them. One more quick swish and flick and the ripped pieces were flying off her body and spinning through the air like confetti.

"Whoa! This one's really fit!. Much better that the Polyjuice version."

"Look at those rock hard abs," said Blaise as he walked around Hermione appraisingly. "A nice round bum and fine legs to boot."

"You been hitting one of those Muggle health clubs?" he asked Hermione. "Whad you think Theo – has miss Granger been working out?"

"Sure looks like it. But you know, there's only one way to find out."

"Yeah, what you got in mind?"

"You wanna flip?"

"Flip for what?"

"You know what. You want firsts or what?"

"Hell, you had firsts last time."

"Last time didn't count and you know it," he said and pointed to the girl on the floor.

Blaise pulled a Galleon coin from his trousers pocket.

"Heads or tails?" he said.

"Tails," called Theo, grudgingly. The coin hit the floor and spun around for a few seconds before falling on it's side.

"Heads it is," announced Blaise.

"Hell. You cheated."

"Did not!"

Standing there in only a pair of Ballet flats, Hermione felt like a calf at the auction block. There was a lump in her throat the size of a golf ball. She had no disillusions about what was to happen next. Sadly all she could do at this point was scream - but she would use the screams sparingly. It wasn't much of a plan but it would have to do until a better one came along.

Gawking and letting their eyes drink their fill, they finally grabbed Hermione and drug her to the bed. This triggered her first scream and it was a good one.

"Shut up Granger. It'll be worse if you keep wailing."

"The Order," she said. "They're on their way. Why do you think I'm here, you fools!"

"Well - then I guess we better enjoy ourselves while we can," snapped Blaise.

After a lengthy struggle, Blaise held out one of her arms for Theo to tie to the bedpost.

"It _would_ take two of you bastards to handle one girl," she spat out the words. "Only a coward would have to tie a girl," she went on.

Thinking about this for a moment, Blaise released his grip on her arm.

_Okay Hermione, good work, he fell for it._

"Have it your way then Granger. Theo, keep a wand on her."

Pinned flat on her back, Blaise was trying to force his legs between hers. He was trying to pry them apart but lacked the strength to do so. His wand was lying on a table beside the bed, and the gown with the knife was still hanging over the headboard. She had to fight back. She could use her free hands and create a distraction. With any luck she might get hold of the wand or the knife. She fought back as hard as she could; she slapped, she punched, and dug her fingernails across Blaises's face, furrowing three red bleeding marks across his cheek.

He immediately responded with a hard backhand to her jaw. For a moment she saw stars. He followed that clever trick with his left hand tightly locked around her throat. He squeezed until she feared she might pass out. That would be the last thing she needed. She stopped fighting and lay still, but kept her arms and legs tightly clamped to her body. She thought he would stop squeezing, but he didn't. His plan was clear, if she didn't submit he'd keep on squeezing until she passed out.

For a moment she almost blacked out and went as limp as a rag. When her head cleared, the bastard had managed to pry her legs apart. With his free hand he had his trousers down past his arse and was going for it. Still damp from being with Draco earlier, her natural defenses were missing entirely.

Hermione calculated she was only moments away from being violated by this bastard. Violated? She almost laughed_. _She seriously almost laughed._ Hermione, get real girl - these two are going to take turns on you - you'll be shagged bloody. Chill out and plan another diversion. Think about another way to get at the... _

Wincing when it happened, she clinched her eyes and lips tight.

_Okay Hermione, it's time for another scream._ And she did... or she tried to, but with Blaise still choking her it came out as a shrill raspy hiss.

Watching the door all this time, Theo could hear every bit of the struggle taking place behind him. Granger had put up a damn good fight, he thought. Now the only struggles he could hear were from rusty bed springs. He had just turned to check on his friend's progress when:

BOOM.

The curse sounded like a clap of thunder in the small cottage. Struck with a powerful stunning spell, Theo went flying into the wall and then slid comically down to the floor unconscious. Blaise, literally caught with his pants down, knew he was about to be attacked but was caught with the wrong wand in hand. Taking advantage of the distraction, Hermione grabbed for the knife and Blaise tried to stop her. She got her hand on it but never got it out of the gown pocket. She tried to stab him anyway bit only managed to cut and rip the gown.

Before Hermione could do serious damage another explosion sent Blaise flying across the room to join Theo.

Hoping to greet the Order, Hermione threw the gown over herself and turned to greet her rescuer. It was not the Order or any member of the Order. It was Malfoy. He was standing there languidly and leaning against the door frame for support. She looked at Draco solemnly. He was in a fresh gown but still bleeding heavily down his right side.

"Didn't expect to see you here," she began.

He tried to chuckle, but only coughed up blood.

"I don't suppose it would do any good to say I'm sorry," she quipped.

"Not a bit."

"Are you going to kill me – couldn't blame you too much if you did?"

Draco dropped his head in response to her query.

"You just couldn't stay away from this place, could you?"

"I've learnt my lesson."

"We better go before they wake up. Besides you can't get in or out of the grounds without a friendly wand. The whole place is magically protected."

With that, Draco turned away from the cottage doorway and began back toward the manor. He had changed into a fresh dressing gown but it too was showing a large blood stain on his right side. He took three more steps before passing out and falling prostrate onto the ground. He had dropped his wand and it lay a few feet away from his hand. All she had to do was to pick it up and all the options were all hers.

The rain began again. Soft at first and then harder. A small stream of blood mixed with water trickled away from the wizard's side. She looked over the scene with mixed and torn emotions. At last she picked up the wand and returned to the cottage.

Still unconscious, she aimed Malfoy's wand at the bastard. "Obliviate," she conjured, and Blaise twitched and shook under force of the spell. With a strange wand she wasn't sure if she had wiped away a week of memories or a month. Who the hell cared she decided. Quickly, she went over to Theo and repeated the same magic. For a moment she considered something worse, but her concern shifted to the pitiful girl on the floor. She looked at Hermione with such curious and wanting eyes but there was nothing Hermione could do for her at the moment.

She returned to stand over Draco. She shook her head over the decision she had to make. He was no longer unconscious but unable to get up on his own. She looked at the wand and then Draco. She had done all for the Order she could. How much could be expected of one witch. The only problem with this mission was that it had been conceived by a man. Somehow, she thought, there might be another way.

"Draco," she called. He was more pale than usual and looked back with dreary, bloodshot, eyes. "Draco, let's go," she beckoned.

"I'm dying – just go."

"No you're not but you've got to get back to the house. Do you hear me?"

"I can't make it."

At this, she pulled and struggled to get him up. His hands kept slipping out of hers in the raining and muddy conditions. Finally she managed to pull him to his feet and placed his arm around her shoulder.

"Let's go," she went on. "We have to get back to the house."

Hermione, with the cut and sliced dressing gown, and Draco, still leaking blood, both slogged arm in arm through the wet muddy conditions back to the door of Malfoy Manor.

:

* * *

**A/N:** Well, that's the end of part one – hope you liked it; thanks for reading. Sincere grats goes out for comments and support from: dutch potterfan, Guest, LanaLee1, and phoenixtearsandfeathers. Also a big thanks to all the other reviewers who have helped me along the way. And last but not least, a big thanks to all that faved or followed.


	11. What Shakes Out

**.**

"**...but I desire I may no further be harassed, and I recommend it to you to retire to your chamber, and to endeavor to adopt a more rational conduct, than that yielding to fancies, and to a sensibility, which, to call it by the gentlest name, is only a weakness."**

**Ann Radcliffe, The Mysteries of Udolpho**

**.**

**The Tower Window**

**Part Two  
**

**11\. What Shakes Out**

Struggling on to the Manor, Draco and Hermione met Griselda at the door. One look from the evil hag told Hermione that serious trouble was not far away – and to think she could have been free.

"What's going on here," she demanded.

"He's been hurt."

When Draco turned his right side to the house-elf she gasped. The first emotion, other than anger, Hermione had seen from the elf.

"If you did this you'll die," she threatened.

"Griselda," coughed Draco. "Just drop it." The elf looked first at Hermione's sliced gown and then at Draco. Unable to comprehend the situation, she was both troubled and confused.

"We must cauterize the wound," instructed Hermione.

"Fetch the healer," Griselda barked to one of the servants. "The Master is badly hurt." The servant gaped at the growing stain of blood and ran as fast as a house-elf could run.

Moments later a white-haired house-elf returned with the servant. He took one look at Draco and shook his head.

"We must get him to bed – immediately!"

Because of her size, Hermione was allowed to help. She held Draco's left hand and arm, wrapped over her shoulder. They all struggled to help Draco to his quarters. Having never seen the part of the Mansion, Hermione found it difficult not to admire the lavish surroundings.

"Get him in bed," barked Griselda, and with the help of three elves Hermione managed to lay Draco on top of the covers and then drag his feet to the foot of the bed.

With Draco secure, Griselda glared at Hermione and pointed to the door. Standing there with a worried look on her face, Daisy was waiting to take her away.

She paused to look back. They had his the robe off and he lay there pale and sallow. The healer was passing his hand over his side to magically cauterize the wound. Knowing nothing else could be done, Hermione followed Daisy peacefully back to her room.

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

For three days and nights Hermione stayed cooped up in her tiny room with no interaction of any kind except for Daisy. Anxieties and fears worsened with no news of Draco. If something happened to him her life would be immediately forfeit.

On the fourth morning, after she had returned from her regular shower, she changed into jeans and a cardigan and resumed her seat by the window. She was surprised by a knock on the door.

After a brief but polite amount of time, Alfred unlatched the door and let himself in. The portly house-elf marched to the center of the room commandingly. It was always hard to tell from his lack of expression, but for some reason this morning, she assumed the worse. Alfred stood there mutely as if expecting her to speak in his stead.

"Draco," she implored. "He's dead?"

"Oh no Miss – quite the contrary. If you will follow me."

With that, he spun on one heel and led her back down the freshly scrubbed staircase and toward the corridor to the Great Hall. It was a crisp clear morning and the huge fireplace was already popping with a radiant fire that filled the room with warmth.

They passed under the many deer heads in the long corridor to Draco's office and stood by the door while Alfred rapped gently.

Hermione could only hear a muted response. Alfred swung open the door and, after a deep breath, she gathered herself before entering. Draco was behind the desk but watched her casually as she entered the room. He appeared to be comfortable in a satiny lime-green dressing gown. Something nicer than what you would wear out of the shower.

For a few moments they sat in silence.

"I thought we should talk," he said at last.

"Yes."

Unable to begin they sat mutely just looking at one another.

"I thought it would be easy, this talk, but it's not." he said. "We seem to be at an odd juncture. You try to kill me but then you save me. I should have left you with Blaise and Theo, but I rescued you from that."

"Draco," she added and bowed her head. "I want you to understand – it was a job – it was always a job."

"I'll say. Didn't see that coming – but I should have."

"It wasn't personal."

"It wasn't? None of it?"

She shook her head at the difficulty of the question and looked away.

"Well, maybe a little – at first."

"You know, I have questions."

"Of course, but I may not be able to answer them. We're still at odds Draco. You know – two people on opposite sides of a war."

"For sure, but I have to know how to proceed Granger."

"I can't help you there."

"You can't? Oh, I think you can."

"Alright – then do what you were going to do at the cottage – just let me go."

Draco nodded deep understanding nods.

"Just let you go," he said, addressing no one in particular. "...and let you do what?"

He reached down to open a desk drawer. His lime-green gown fell open to reveal a large bandage wrapped around his torso. He pulled out two manila folders and lay them on the table. Unwrapping a retaining string he opened one and removed a few sheets of parchment.

"You know I couldn't believe this when I first read it. Some swore it was true but I didn't believe it."

"Believe what?"

You could see Draco's eyes follow the first few sentences.

"It says here, A young witch believed to be Hermione Granger, attired in a manner best described as risque, did in fact meet Evgeny Demetrius at the Three Broomsticks. Drinking and making himself quite familiar with the young witch, they both departed at a late hour for Demetrius' flat."

Draco paused to study Hermione's reaction, but there was none.

"According to this report, the subject then (that's you) left the wizard's flat in the morning hours. He had been impaired by a strong memory charm and valuable details of the war effort had been stolen. Demetrius was discovered later, confused, naked, and in bed."

"How on earth would you suppose to know all this - and why?"

"Simple," replied Malfoy. "Being from out of the country, these Death Eaters were as unknown to us as they were to you. We had them watched to make sure we could trust them."

He looked to Hermione for some kind of response but there was none.

"And this last case: Stephen Finlayson it says here, he spent a weekend in Hogsmeade with a person also matching your description and, under similar conditions, was found in the same shape as Demetrius ."

"Why are you telling me these stories?"

"You don't know anything about them?"

"No, and if I did I couldn't tell you... and what are you playing at?"

"Relax Granger – you're not on trial."

"What then?"

"Granger," he said, and dropped the folders on the desk. "I can't just let you go. You're too much of a danger to our side."

"You were willing to let me walk away at the cottage?"

"I thought I was dying at the cottage."

"So... what do you plan to do.. with me?"

He took a deep breath, but winced with pain and grabbed his side.

"I intend for you to sit out the war – here at Malfoy Manor... and I hoped you would resume your duties."

"My duties? And just what kind of duties?" she asked and eyed him glaringly.

He threw his palms up. "All of them!"

"You don't mean..."

"Why not? You did attempt to kill me – normally you would be executed for that. But... since you were just doing your duty, I hope you'll understand I'm just trying to do mine."

"Draco," she mewled pleadingly. "This thing... this game with us, it's over. And I couldn't if I wanted to," she retorted and examined nails in the floor.

Draco waved his hands dismissively.

"Alright, no more talk of business and duties for now. But you should know Granger, there's very little work for you now. You never would get along with Griselda..."

"And who the hell could?"

"...accommodations, and rations... they'll be rather poor until you find a way to be useful around here. I'm sorry to be so strict but it's the law the elves live by. How would it look – the elves bringing food to someone who doesn't work for it?"

"Whatever Malfoy – but I won't be your shag buddy."

"Alright, you've made that clear. You may expect no more morning visits from me again. And about the other night: first let me apologize for my rowdy friends."

"The two troglodytes?"

"Yes, that's the ones. Blaise is a arsehole... well both of them really. I hope he didn't... that he wasn't able to... I mean..." he struggled clumsily for the words.

"No," she said, before he could finish. "You arrived just after us really. He never even touched me – so don't concern yourself."

"That's good to hear – very good to hear. But, they're still around and I had to make excuses for what happened. That memory spell of yours... that was pretty good."

Hermione, flushed a little, knowing this indirectly pointed to her as the guilty party in the two cases previously mentioned.

"It's nothing Malfoy. All of us in the _Order of the Phoenix_ knew that spell quite well."

"_Really_," he replied with animation. "Well now you know why I wanted to keep you out of sight, and I'm afraid this precaution still applies. We have to continue being careful in the future."

"I understand – but what happens to the girl? That cottage is like some medieval torture cell."

"I thought that might upset you."

"You can't just leave her there? That's totally barbaric."

"You're free to take her place," he quipped, and Hermione scowled at his use of levity.

"I understand the Polyjuice Potion," she added. "But her story is full of holes."

"The girl is a squib. She knows little of magic and bore an uncanny resemblance to you. She required very little Polyjuice Potion. Much easier for long term use, you know. She'd gotten into real trouble with the Ministry somehow. They had her scheduled for termination. So I made deal with her – play Hermione Granger until the war is over and you'll go free. Trouble is: she didn't know Blaise and Theo, and she didn't like em when she met them."

"You mean she didn't like being raped by them."

"Yes, I guess you could use those words. She lasted only a couple of weeks before she tried to tell them she wasn't Hermione Granger," he said and chuckled. "But the ruse was complete. Anyone... after two weeks with Blaise and Theo would say they're someone else. It was perfect!"

"Malfoy that's the most egregious and demented thing I've ever heard of."

"Sorry if it offends you Granger, but it kept your sweet ass out of the noose."

She nodded solemnly. "Yes."

"Well Granger... it's time for my therapy. The elves are still working on healing this," he said and patted his side. "So, I'll have to be running along. I assume before you go – that we can agree on one thing – have we managed a truce?"

"I suppose so."

He studied her reaction and lingered.

"Why didn't you leave Granger – with my wand you could have."

"You survived the hangman's noose – only to rescue me from being raped bloody. If I had left – and I did consider it, you would have bled out. I think it's easy to understand I couldn't ignore a favor."

Draco pondered her response.

"No, I guess you're right. Hermione Granger could never do that."

"No. She couldn't."

"So I have a proposition..."

"It's evil I'm sure."

"How much do you want to help the girl?"

"Very much. What do I have to do?"

"You stop being the frigid bitch and warm up to your old duties. If you can see it in your heart to do that – I'll get the girl out. Don't know what I'll tell the Ministry, but I'll manage somehow."

"Malfoy, I thought you died when you went over the stairs – but you must have landed on your head. How could you ask such a thing? A decent person doesn't need that kind of incentive to do the right thing."

Malfoy laughed. "It was a spell – on the staircase. The elves finally put it there – a version of the _Arresto Momentum_."

"They could have told me – those stairs are terrifying."

He smiled. "That was the point... so you will you consider my offer?"

"Of course not."

"Oh, I see. So you would do this sort of thing to stab a knife in my side, but wouldn't do it as a favor to a man who spared your life – and for a sweet girl that needs your help."

"I only did that to win the war."

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

It was three more days of confinement in her room before Alfred finally showed up at her door one morning. Griselda needed some help with heavy lifting and she would receive full rations if she took the job.

Full rations; she would commit murder for full rations. She hadn't had a decent meal in days. Mornings began with a cup of tea and a few crumbs of bread. Supper, if you could call it that, consisted of stale bread and a cup of weak soup. Sometimes Daisy would smuggle her a bottle of water.

Hunger had gnawed at her guts all the day and through the night. The decision was easy. Even Griselda could look beautiful for a full plate of food. And the boredom: it was becoming unbearable.

Hermione helped with heavy cornice boxes covered with silks and fine satins all day. It was up and down a ladder hundreds of times until the back of her legs and bum were sore. The meal turned out okay – at least she managed to get her fill even if it wasn't exactly french cuisine. Finished with the cornices, there was nothing for Hermione the next day – and the day after that. On the third day, there was a note and a long dress on her bed.

* * *

Would like to see you at dinner tonight.

Don't worry about Blaise and Theodore.

The cooks have prepared something special.

Hope you'll wear the frock.

Make it at six sharp.

Draco

* * *

The thought of a good meal made her mouth water. The shiny black dress included a pair of heels but no innerwear. To be fair it was so sleek it would be a crime to wear any. Spaghetti straps, a frilly front that would flatter even her chest, and a deep V back. It was a cute number; there was no doubt about.

Oh dear, how she would love a good meal in a dress like this. It would be heaven to get out of this room, but it was all too obvious what Malfoy was after and she had no intention of going there or providing any further encouragement.

She RSVPed her regrets and sent the note and dress back to it's owner. She would have probably made a pig of herself anyway.

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

The next morning began with the same monotonous routine as always. Perhaps it only felt boring because in all likelihood she'd be spending another day by the window. Daisy, sensing her desperation, allowed her a little more time under the running water on this morning.

Freshly scrubbed and dressed, she had parked her bum as usual by the window when a rap on the door surprised her. A few moments later the latch turned from the outside and Alfred entered with his usual air of authority.

"What is it?"

"Follow me if you please."

She didn't bother to ask the taciturn elf why but followed him instead to the ground level. She was already a bit nervous. Perhaps Malfoy was furious at her refusal on the night before. She knew little of Malfoy's inner demons and would have to be more careful in the future.

To add to her anxiety, Alfred made a right turn away from the Great Hall and proceeded to a section of the Manor she'd never seen before. He paused before two great oak doors and then opened one side. Hermione peeped in before entering. It didn't look too sinister from where she was standing. The room was suffused with light.

It looked like a huge reading room.

"Good morning Granger," hailed her host.

"Morning," she replied,

"I thought you would like tea."

Gawking at all the beautifully furnishings, she almost stumbled before falling into a chair opposite Malfoy. Oaken walls slick with polish and age. Bookshelves to the ceiling were filled with leather volumes.

"Sure..." she managed at last.

A small house-elf with a tea towel over his arm came to her aide immediately.

"Sorry you couldn't make it last night," he said.

"Would have loved to Malfoy but I had a previous engagement," she countered and he laughed.

"It wasn't what you think Granger."

"Oh, that's right. So silly of me – I forgot how you know what it is I'm thinking," she bantered and eyed a plate of hot buttered crumpets. Wasn't the bastard ever going to offer her one? He finally noticed her ogling the plate – or perhaps she was drooling. She couldn't tell and didn't care which.

"Would you care for a crumpet?"

"Oh, you have crumpets? I'm not very hungry – but I guess I'll try one."

The elf scampered back with a buttered crumpet on a silver plate.

"Last night – you missed some business I meant to discuss with you."

"Whas that?" she answered through a mouthful.

The sound of a latch and one of the heavy oak doors swung open. Footsteps – two pair of them proceeded toward the ivory legged coffee table.

She quickly washed down the bite of food with a bit of tea. Turning around to see who it was, she nearly spit it all back up.

"Ah, Blaise – Theo, have a seat. I was just telling Miss Granger here how excited you were to hear she'll be joining our side in the war."

.

* * *

A/N: Here we are finally in Part II. Thanks so much for the continued support from LanaLee1, Guest(same one?), AnnaOxford, and phoenixtearsandfeathers. M_ulto gratias to all who followed and faved – and last but not least – thanks for reading._


	12. Dinner Guests

**.**

**'Si vos can non pello pepulli pulsum lemma suo lemma.'**

**.**

**The Tower Window**

**12\. Dinner Guests**

_...she'll be joining our side in the war._

Talk about dropping a bomb. How do you react to that? Hermione knew nothing of what Malfoy had told Blaise and Theo, so there was no way for her to form an intelligent response. She could only smile and look dumb. If only she would have killed Malfoy when she had the chance.

Draco laughed. "Miss Granger still looks a little shocked – no doubt surprised we accepted her offer. Is that right Miss Granger?"

"Surprised? I couldn't be any more surprised."

"You see, like so many others, Granger was totally unaware we'd redefined our cause," he said as if explaining to a child. "It has nothing to do with blood status anymore – does it Blaise?"

Zabini shook his head languidly.

"No, not at all," Malfoy went on, inspired by his own ardor. "You see Voldemort was the driving force behind a war to purify the wizarding bloodlines and being as powerful as Voldemort was... well, everyone went along with him."

"Went along with him or died," injected Theo.

Malfoy and Zabini nodded in agreement.

"After the Dark Lord was killed – we were prepared to end the war Granger. But your former side in this conflict wouldn't let us. They were going to take everything we had and throw us in Azkaban."

"So, we kept fighting."

"Well put Blaise. It would have been mental to accept their conditions of surrender. All we wanted is what was rightfully ours," Malfoy orated and waved his hands at the splendor around him. "And we mean to keep it Granger."

"I can see that."

"Well..." Draco slapped the desk as a sign of finality and addressed Zabini and Nott. "I know you two are anxious to be on your way so I won't keep you."

All this time Blaise had been eying Hermione like he knew what she looked like with her clothes off, and she realized that in the lessor or greater degree, he did. Even though his real memories of her were not real, Zabini was creeping her out all the same.

Before leaving, he shot her a little glance and a two finger salute. Then without further delay, Blaise and Theo shook hands with Draco and departed for their assignment. They were left with a few moments of silence before the fireworks.

"Just what the hell is this?" she exclaimed when the oak door shut behind them.

Draco couldn't help but grin.

"It was the only way Granger. The only way for you to get everything you want."

"Everything I want? Are you mental? This has nothing to do with what I want."

"The girl: you wanted the girl free – now she is," he explained.

"You didn't take her somewhere and kill her?"

"You cut to the bone Granger. I try to help you and this is what I get."

"Draco, there's no way I can pretend to be a part of this. And you should know it. I can't do it. Please... just let me go."

"Well, I certainly can't do that now. It would be my head in a noose."

"Look, I'm not the same girl."

He looked at her quizzically.

"You'll come to see things differently in a few days," he reasoned. "We'll have some more correspondence work arranged very soon and your full rations should resume. We just had to work out a deal with Blaise and Theo before you could work openly in the house."

"Draco..."

"Look," he said and raised his hands. "We'll talk again later. I am beginning to feel you don't trust me, but if you experience a change of heart we meet for dinner every night at six. If you want to stay informed, I suggest you give it a try. We dress for dinner, and your dress is hanging in the service room whenever you require it. Daisy can help you with a shower and the dress – just let her know."

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

She managed to retain her sanity for three more days before feeling compelled to speak to someone – even if that someone was Draco Malfoy. With uncertainty and hunger gnawing at her guts she had to get out of the tiny room.

Every evening now, precisely at five, Daisy would check with her. No doubt at Draco's instructions.

"Will you be joining Master Draco tonight Miss? Or will you be taking supper in your room?"

"Daisy, I think I will join Draco tonight. I'll need a shower and the dress."

"Yes ma'am – and I'm happy that you are. You ain't been eating enough in here to keep a bird alive."

Her second shower for one day – a first in the Manor. All scrubbed and dried she slipped into the satiny sheath dress with nothing under it but skin. It totally hugged every curve and felt delicious on.

Digging into her bag of original things, she retrieved a hair clip to bundle curly locks at the nape of the neck, letting the ends fall and fan out over her shoulder. She had no makeup and had no desire to encourage Malfoy further, but it seemed a bit of a shame. From somewhere Daisy produced a bit of rouge for her lips. Pinching her cheeks, she followed Daisy out the door.

"You is beautiful Miss."

"Thank you Daisy."

With her shoes in her hands she lifted the long hem to keep it out from under her feet while negotiating the slick stone staircase. They waited for Alfred at the ground level entrance while Hermione casually slipped back into the heels. This was a far as Daisy could go as she was not allowed into the main living area of the Manor.

When Alfred finally arrived, Daisy smiled affectionately and waved goodbye as the Head house-elf led Hermione away. This would be another venture into a section of the Manor yet unknown to her. She wondered if they would have company or be dining alone.

The dining room was another over the top affair. Huge windows ran from the tall ceilings to the floor and were covered in draperies and cornices like the renovated bedrooms in the Northeast wing. Portraits of Malfoys long gone adorned the walls in gilt frames. Tiny cherub figurines seemed to pop out of crevices to share in the evening festivities. There were only two place settings at the opposite ends of a long banquet table. Alfred seated her at the end farthest from the door and scampered off. More elves she didn't recognize, but appropriately dressed as waiters, quickly filled her glass with water and set a covered basket of yeast rolls within reach. _Damnit_. Now she wouldn't be able to concentrate on anything but food until their meal arrived.

Clicking heels on hardwood finally announced her well dressed host.

"Granger! Glad you could make it," he said robustly and paused before taking his chair at the opposite end of the long table. "If you don't mind – could you indulge me," he said and she didn't at first understand what the hell he wanted.

Seeing her confusion, he clarified. "I'd love to see the dress."

She obliged reluctantly by standing away from the table and a making a modest modeling spin.

"It looks very nice."

"Glad you like it. Jeans and trainers would have worked for me."

Draco ignored her snub and motioned for the waiting staff. An elf wearing a white dinner jacket over a dirty pillowcase scampered up immediately.

"Bring some wine and a couple of glasses," he instructed.

"Oh – no Draco – I don't..."

"Nonsense Granger. We must celebrate."

"Celebrate? Celebrate what?"

"You joining our side of course."

"I haven't joined any..." She was interrupted by an elf filling her stemware with exactly six ounces of wine. Now angry, and caring not a damn for manners or protocol, she reached into the basket for a fat yeast roll. She bit a hunk out of the roll and instantly felt a tinge of wicked relief. If she only had butter!

"We can celebrate anyway."

"I'll just celebrate having a good meal if you don't mind."

"Be my guest. I'll think you'll enjoy what the cook's prepared."

"I'm sure I will. About the other day: I think you left out a few details," she said, and stuffed the remainder of the roll in her mouth.

"Yes, a few. What is it that troubles you Granger?"

"I thought of something while wiling away the time. You remember that pair of Death Eaters... the ones that spotted me in the writing room?"

"Thortlean and Pengrove?"

"It was almost as if they expected to find me. They had heard of the girl in the cottage – didn't they? They just didn't know where they'd find her."

Draco threw his hands up. "Perhaps – we'll never know."

"And why will we never know?"

"They ran into unfortunate circumstances."

"What kind of unfortunate circumstances?"

"They were unlucky enough to encounter a large party of the enemy in Knockturn Alley. They chose to stand and fight... poor decision really, and it didn't go well for them."

"Didn't go well – you mean they were killed?"

"Yes."

"Then they would have been the only ones to have known that the real me was staying here with you."

Draco looked heavenward as if the question required thought.

"Yes."

Satisfied, Hermione went back for another yeast roll. A few moments of silence passed between them before she fielded another question.

"What did you tell Blaise and Theo? And just how much will I have to interface with them?"

"Only what I had to. Of course they remember the Polyjuice version of you. And you, by the way, should have no knowledge of her at all."

"She's already forgotten – and you didn't help Blaise and Theo remember anything of that day that may have slipped their mind?"

"No, of course not."

"Well, then how _did_ you explain their memory loss – and the attack. I'm sure Blaise was curious when he woke up with his trousers down around his knees."

"I told them the Order attacked us believing that it was the real _you_ trapped in the cottage. Apparently there were some stories circulating around to that that effect."

"Well now, I wonder who would have done that?" Draco looked back innocently and rolled his shoulders in a shrug.

"The attack was how I obtained my injury, I told them; it was by some form of the _Sectumsempra._ Potter's old favorite, I believe. But you came to the rescue, I told them," he said and smiled. "And all is well. I couldn't explain the memory loss and they didn't press me on the subject."

"Well... it seems like you've got it all worked out."

"I think so, but you've reminded me that mistakes are always possible."

"Glad to be of help Malfoy."

A horde of house-elves entered the room carrying their evening meal. It took two to carry the main entrée. Struggling, they managed to set the chrome dome covered serving tray on the table. The jacketed elf, who was probably the chef, lifted the dome as if performing a feat of magic. Their evening treat turned out to be a large duck, roasted golden brown, circled by buttered potatoes and leeks. Other elves brought more yeast rolls with butter this time, and a treacle parfait for desert.

"I hope this meets with your satisfaction Granger."

Being abstemious for so long, Hermione could only nod in awe as she gave her plate to an elf for slices of roast duck and potatoes. Unable to wait, she forked a sliver of roast duck into her mouth. Pausing to savor, she closed her eyes while taking epicurean delight in the very first bite.

"This is good Malfoy."

As she continued unabatingly, Draco seemed to take real pleasure in watching her eat.

"You never answered my other question," she finally announced and wiped the corner of her mouth with her forefinger. "How much will I have to deal with these guys, Blaise and Theo?"

"You'll have to 'deal' with them on a fairly regular basis. And we'll have other formal visitors. Pansy is still sympathetic to our side I believe. There will also be the occasional out-of-town guest, and you may be called in for that."

More Slytherins, she thought, and the out-of-town equivalents thereof.

"Well, I don't like them," she managed between bites of treacle parfait. "Blaise and Theo, I mean. They look at me like I'm still naked."

Draco grinned. "So what's the problem Granger? From what I've observed, you don't appear to be particularly modest."

"No, not very. But modesties are merely a condition of the mind. Rape is very real."

"But you said..."

"Uh, no – I wasn't, but you didn't arrive a minute too soon."

"But I did arrive Granger, and I did stop them, and you wiped away their memories. End of that... whatever maladies you suffered, no one will ever know or remember any of that day."

"Good; those bastards both creep me out. And while we're on the subject, I suppose they'll expect me to turn informer. You know I won't do that."

"I figured as much Granger. And I think we can work around that. A few carefully crafted stories will help."

Shaking her head at Malfoy's persistence, she carefully brought the crystal stemware to her lips for a sample of the wine. It was the least she could do and a little wine should have no effect on a full stomach.

"Why are you doing this Malfoy?"

For once, Draco seemed unable to conjure a quick reply.

"And by 'this', you mean placing you on our side?"

"Of course."

"Because... I think you could be a real asset to our side in this war. There are many things you don't know about us Granger, and you've been brainwashed to fill in the gaps. Once you get to know us," he said and raised his glass in a salutary manner, "you might not think us so bad."

Hermione made an disingenuous effort to raise her glass in return.

"I'm sure of it now."

"You're sure of what?" he asked with a trace of humorous amusement.

"You fell on your head that day."

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

The days moved as slow as treacle in January. There was no news of Blaise and Theo or when they might be returning to the Manor. Of the nature of their mission, Draco had given no clue. She was still waiting for any real work and wondering when her regular meals would resume. It was obvious that Draco was intentionally starving her, so she would have little choice but to frequent his evening banquet table.

She had accepted his hospitality on one more occasion when she was particularly hungry. She had almost balked at the dress as it was a little too scintillating with shining, reflective, fibers. She was no expert but it was clearly over the top for the occasion.

Finally her growling stomach won the argument and she consented. Malfoy was more or less the gentleman on both evenings, but she strongly felt there was something more on his mind besides the food and conversation, which felt contrived and sprinkled with platitudes.

This whole thing felt wrong on so many levels. However long the war might be, she would sit it out. She would be stuck inside these walls while friends risked their life every day. And when she did get out, she'd have to convince her own side she was no traitor. It was most assured that Malfoy and his minions would be spreading rumors that she had turned against the Order.

There were few options left for her now.

One: she would have to turn spy. She still had the books infused with the protean charm and could communicate key information back to the Order. If she was caught this offense would bring her the death penalty. Since she was no longer offering herself to Malfoy for sexual favors, he would have little motivation to stop it this time.

Two: She could end the truce and look for a new way to get rid of Draco Malfoy. Either way, it was another offense punishable by death.

She would turn spy. It was obvious she had no real heart for assassin work. Now, there was only one thing left to do. What to report? Now that she was a member of Draco's Death Eater Ministry, she had no idea what was going on. She'd met with no one but Malfoy since Zabini and Nott had departed.

This was about to change.

Returning from her shower the next morning, she was peeling out of the bathrobe and reaching for a pair of jeans on the bed. There was a note lying there beside the clothes. After she wriggled into the jeans she couldn't wait to read it.

* * *

Granger,

We'll be having guests for dinner tonight.

Since you're new, attendance will be mandatory.

Please try to look your best, which will be

more then enough, I'm sure.

Draco.

* * *

Cautiously intrigued, Hermione managed her day, which consisted of nearly nothing, as best she could. Who would be the guests? The note had given no clue.

As the hour grew near, she managed to convince Daisy to look at the dress before taking her shower. Very much afraid Malfoy might throw her a zinger with the dress, they hurried to the service room at the end of the long corridor. The man seemed to have no idea of moderation.

On the hanger, the long backless white dress didn't appear overly risque, but it was certainly over the top for a impromptu dinner date. On a second glance, something didn't look quite right. The long thin straps just barely swelled to form two small triangles that were not correctly positioned. Quickly trying it on, her worst fears were realized. The whole thing was simply set too low. It gave an all new meaning to side-boob, and under-boob. In her wildest dreams, she'd never imagined wearing something like this. Without a magical charm, or some form of adhesive, or double-faced tape, it was a sure bet she'd pop out if it before the night was over.

"Why does he do this?" she exclaimed. "No way I'm wearing it!"

Daisy was not immediately able to formulate a reply, but the fear showing in her face spoke loudly enough.

"Miss you must – it's too late for Master to find another."

She'd known all along Draco found and sized her clothing, but Daisy had never let on for a second that she knew anything about it.

"But I won't. The jeans and cardigan will have to do."

"Oh no Miss. Daisy doesn't know much, but she knows you can't do that. Master would be furious. You run along to your shower and I get a message to Mister Draco."

There was a scurrying of house-elves while Hermione basked under hot water. One elf, who Hermione guessed was elected the unfortunate messenger, finally ran off with the news. Lingering under the water until she pruned, she forced herself to get out. Malfoy was standing there behind a curtain of steaming vapors with her robe in his outstretched hand. She jerked it out of his grip and flew into it.

"_What_ the hell?" she demanded.

"So I've heard you have a problem?"

"Oh really - which one?" she parried.

"With the dress of course, Daisy said you won't wear it."

"Are you for real – I wouldn't be caught dead..."

"Look Granger, it's all I've got at this hour. Besides..."

"Look Malfoy... I'm not wearing it. If it were just the two of us, I'd be suspicious. But around people I don't know, I'd break out in hives wearing that."

"Well, for your information it's not people you don't know although one of the them may not know you."

She pulled a face. "Is this a riddle?"

Malfoy shook his head.

"Okay," she said with mock interest. "Who is it then?"

Malfoy paused and then answered timidly.

"Pansy Parkinson and your old friend Stephen Finlayson," he admitted at length.

Hermione's eyes panned wide and her jaw went slack. "I'm not wearing the dress – cause I'm not going."

"Granger, this time I must insist."

"I won't." she asserted stubbornly.

"Look Granger – you're coming, alright? In the dress, in the dressing gown, or completely starkers – I don't really care which, but you're coming."

"You bastard."

"I'll expect you at five till six."

.

* * *

A/N: As usual, when attempting to formulate my true feeling into an appropriate response, I arrive at a lack of words. So I'll just say this: A big thanks for support and comments from LanaLee1, PuddleInTheFloor, dutch potterfan, Loopygirl1, and ladymagna1100. And finally, to all of those that read - gee thanks. :)


	13. A Bitter Secret

**.**

**'That, my dear, is what makes a character interesting, their secrets.'**

– **Kate Morton, The Forgotten Garden **

**.**

**The Tower Window**

**13\. A Bitter Secret**

_I'll expect you at five till six._

Only Malfoy could be so arrogant. Well, to hell with him, she thought. Back in her small and lonely closet of a room, she fumed. The white gown was laying across the bed as she had expected. Her cardigan and jeans had been taken away. The bastard had made good on one promise; if she attended the dinner she'd have to go in the dress, or the bath robe, or starkers.

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

Downstairs, Draco chatted with Pansy and their new found friend, Stephen Finlayson. From an adjoining room, Draco could hear an ancient clock strike chords and then six bells. There was still no sign of Granger.

"Please excuse me. Do enjoy the hors d'oeuvres – I'll be back shortly."

They barely made notice of his departure. It looked like Pansy and Finlayson were getting along just fine. It was just as well, he thought. It might persuade the two of them to become solid members of his inner circle.

Damn it all; where the hell was Granger. Of all things trite; she could find disagreement in the simplest of things. The gown was a bit over the top, but if she was ever going to convince Ministry members she belonged in the Manor, she would have to look the part.

If she persisted in this he would be forced to apply punishment this time. It would be back with Griselda for sure. This sort of behavior just couldn't continue. He could imagine her right now, sitting in her small chamber pouting, but as he turned the corner to the tower, he was stopped dead in his tracks.

"Oh, there you are," he said – and there she was – about five foot nine in heels he imagined.

Granger stood there, looking better than he'd ever seen her. Her hair was different; it was still bushy but different. She had it gathered behind her with two plaited braids. It looked like she'd managed to find a bit of makeup. She had rose colored nail varnish on her fingers and toes that peeped out from under the long hem. Where the hell had Daisy found all this?

"Am I late? I don't have a watch, or a clock, or any way of keeping of track in that jail cell you keep me in."

"Oh, sorry. Well – you look great."

"I'm glad you think so, because I sure don't."

He moved to get a better view. The gown was a knockout for sure. Everything was low slung, including the daring decolletage that showcased the breasts perfectly.

"Well, are you going to stand there gawking or what?"

All the time Alfred had been standing meekly like a fifth wheel.

"Alfred, I'll take her in from here. Thanks."

Alfred bowed subserviently and disappeared. Being the perfect escort Draco placed his hand on her back, curling his fingers slightly around her side. She shot him a glance that said, _what the hell?_

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

_How phony._ That was her first thought about Draco and this whole dinner getup. As they entered the formal part of the mansion, the air, the mood, the everything was different. She could hear voices before they pushed past the huge double door to the dining room.

Waffling, she had at the last moment decided to put on the the damned dress for dinner. With actions running converse from how she felt she decided on a tact that would be bold as brass. If Malfoy expected her at dinner with her tits out then that's how it would be. But at this very moment as she stepped through the dining room doorway, she felt naked.

There was Pansy, wearing a sleek and shiny black number of her own. Finlayson was chatting her up pretty hard and neither one noticed her and Malfoy enter. Malfoy led her right to the pair and the table of hors d'oeuvres that appeared to command their complete attention.

Draco cleared his throat. "Excuse me."

Two heads finally shot up to take notice.

"Stephen, I'd like to introduce, uh – Hermione Granger." Malfoy had almost choked getting out her first name. "Miss Granger this is Stephen Finlayson."

"It's nice to meet you," she replied flatly. Finlayson and Pansy gawked at her like Draco had brought in a two headed kitten.

"The honor is mine," he said while reaching for her hand. The shake was vapid and limp. Underneath the veneer of formalities, she could see in his eyes that something bothered him. She glanced at Draco, who was watching the situation most carefully.

"Pansy, I trust you two are familiar," Draco injected.

"Quite," she replied but never offered any other form of recognition.

One of the house-elves wearing a dinner jacket over his pillowcase signaled something to Draco.

"I believe dinner is ready," he announced.

On this night they were grouped together at one end of the long table in a cozy fashion. Finlayson was closest to Malfoy and she sat opposite Pansy. Hermione felt like she was dining with a family of vipers. Pansy never once looked her way or made any effort to include her in conversation. In contrast, Draco and Finlayson couldn't take their eyes off of her.

The evening continued in this manner throughout the long dinner. Malfoy never explained how she came to be at the Manor. They never discussed, except in the most general terms, anything of the war. The conversation was light and trivial. Hermione described from memory how the Gryffindor common room was laid out and Finlayson described the bitterness of Durmstrang winters. It was obvious Malfoy was going overboard to make his guests feel at home. The meal, was the best Hermione had enjoyed at the Manor.

From time to time Finlayson would look her way and do a double-take. There was no doubt, the Obviation spell had not completely wiped away everything. Hermione would now remain a ghost of his past. Like déjà vu, she was there sometimes and sometimes she wasn't. Little fragments and shards of memories would try to poke through, only to be blocked by the charm. Draco was watching this very carefully. Obviously, he never believed her denial of setting up Finlayson and he was still curious.

As the conversation slowed, the elves came around to take up the dishes. With a good meal behind her, Hermione was hoping to be escorted back to her room and away from this whole business, of which she had no feelings for at all.

Another elf brought Malfoy and Finlayson cigars and set a large decanter of port on the table.

"Well, if you're going to light those I'll move to the reading room."

"Oh, sorry Pansy – forgot about your sensitive nose," Malfoy said while chewing the tip off the cigar. "Stephan and I have business – we'll be there shortly after," he said and lit up the stogie.

Surprisingly, Pansy looked Hermione's way. "Would you care to join me?"

Relieved to get away from Finlayson, Hermione jumped at the invitation. She glanced back toward Finlayson who was probably questioning Malfoy about her. When safely away from Draco's keen ears, Pansy opened up.

"I used to visit here a lot you know – for a while there Narcissa considered me family."

"Really. I haven't seen her."

"And you won't. She rarely comes here. They have a vacation home somewhere. I can barely pronounce it."

"And Astoria – what about her?"

"What about her?" she snapped back. Hermione quickly dropped the question.

They were entering the reading room, which was nearly as well lit at night as in the day. Pansy stopped to take in Hermione's gown, looking at her from several angles but paying close attention to the daring decolletage.

"It's lovely. It's almost hanging off of you, but it's lovely."

"I'm afraid Draco deserves the credit. I had no hand in it."

Pansy pulled a face. "You know, Draco and I used to be quite close... still are in some ways – maybe not so much in others."

"Oh, really," said Hermione, as if the remark wasn't common knowledge. "I didn't know."

Pansy laughed. "Oh please – I know there's something going on between you two."

"Well then you know more than me."

"You don't have to hide it..."

"I'm not..."

"I wondered what kind of trickery you'd used to snare him," she said, looking squarely at Hermione's tits. "but I see it's old magic."

"I don't know what I can say to convince you," Hermione protested.

"Well then you must be naive – but then I used to think all Gryffindors were naive."

"Perhaps, but there's nothing going on between us."

"Really. Then why are you here?"

"Draco, says I'm to sit out the war here."

"Did he really? Is that what you wish?"

"Of course not."

"Your story – that's the most incredible thing I've ever heard. You know the Ministry would be furious if they knew what he'd done."

"Oh yeah – what did he do?"

"Oh please. Give me some credit. He's lied to them – about you. You were supposed to be locked up in the cottage. But all this time – imagine, you've been right here."

"I'm surprised he told you that."

"He's told only his friends."

"Supposedly, the Ministry wanted me dead. Apparently the cottage thing was some sort of alternative punishment."

Pansy reflected for a moment. "Is that what you think?"

"I only know what Draco's told me."

Pansy smiled a wicked smile. "Would you like to know the truth? Would you like to get out of here?"

Hermione froze for second or two, stone cold.

"Why would you do that? Why would you help?"

Pansy rolled her shoulders into a shrug. "I have my reasons. Of course I can't promise anything, but I'll see what I can do."

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

The next day began as all the others before it. Hermione had dressed after returning from her shower and prepared herself for another long day beside the window. There was still no word of work and no apparent way to get out of her cramped quarters.

She looked back at the books on her desk and wished there were secret messages she could slip to the Order. For all the time she had spent with Malfoy and her new 'side' she knew nothing of their plans and current activities.

Pansy's 'offer', if you could call it that, was certainly curious. Could she trust her? It wouldn't be wise. Obviously with Astoria out of the way, she might be trying to find her way back into Malfoy Manor and Draco's life. Pansy saw her as a threat for some reason, and would be more than happy to pry her lose from Draco's restraints – probably right back to a Ministry that would execute her as soon as they found her. Still... it would be an angle to explore.

And what about Draco? What was hiding in the niches and crevices of his mind? Other than the obvious; he certainly held his cards close to his chest. She only knew that part that showed in his little beady hungry eyes. The way he kept looking at her over dinner made his intentions perfectly clear. She didn't think it would be long before he just came out and asked her to bed. Poor Malfoy; the horny little devil; sex would be the end of him.

:

It was three days later and Hermione had seen only Daisy in the morning and evenings. She was committed this time to hold out for a week without attending Draco's formal dinner. Occasionally Daisy would be able to slip her in a little something extra, but it was hardly enough to maintain a proper level of nourishment. She was actually getting a little weak and light headed on the fourth night, when Daisy stopped by with a note written in Draco's hand. In the note, he was imploring her to accept an invitation to dinner.

As much as she had tried to resist, she found herself telling Daisy to get her things ready. She now had a small makeup kit along with the frocks, gowns, and shoes that Draco selected. She assumed it was all a part of the formal 'dress for dinner' thing.

She was so hungry she hardly looked at or gave the semi-formal frock a second thought. It was a sleek black and tight fitting sheath dress to about knee length. With splits in both sides and a simple neckline, it was conservative compared to others. Ironically it came with a matching black clutch, of which she had nothing to put in it.

Draco met Alfred and her at the door. As always, he looked her up and down.

"You look good tonight."

"Really, what's for dinner?"

Draco chuckled. "I'm not sure really – but tonight, it's likely to be roast beef."

"Sounds great. When do we start?"

"Right away if you like," he said and put his hand on her back - doing the escort thing again.

She started to smack him verbally but tolerated the touch of his fingertips along her back. She would do this at least until she'd been served dinner.

Digging into the yeast rolls, roast beef, gravy and potatoes, Hermione hardly looked once at her host. When she did notice him he seemed to enjoy watching her take carnal pleasure in stuffing her face. And the wine. There was always the wine to wash it down and lubricate the rough edges between the two of them. And an epiphany occurred to Hermione concerning this ridiculous ritual. It was of course, all a lead-up. Going from one physical pleasure to another while hoping the capper would be an evening in bed.

Was Draco really that horny or just that thick?

"Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?" he replied innocently.

"This. These formal dinners... alone."

She really didn't expect an answer. At least not one that made sense. It was at best a rhetorical question. What puzzled her the most was why he bothered. He could force her. He had the authority and power to force her back to his bed.

"Nonsense Granger. We always have dinner."

"Formal dinners – like this?"

"Since I was old enough to walk."

"Okay, then why the dress?" she asked and threw her palms upwards.

"Why not? It looks good on you."

"But, it's not me."

"Then that's a shame. It looks good on you."

"I think you like dressing me up, but I don't know why."

Draco looked a bit uncomfortable with this line of questioning.

"It's important you look like you belong here Granger – for our little game to work out. I'm sorry, but a cardigan and a pair of jeans won't do that."

"I don't think so," she said, spinning the stem of her wine glass. "I think I know what you want."

"You do? Oh that's right, I forgot how you read minds Granger. Please tell me."

"It's not hard to see. Here we are, in this huge house all along – stuck here until the war is over. I mean, who would ever know if I comforted you in the night... who would ever know. One of these days the war will end and Astoria will be back in your arms... but until then we could be shagging our brains out. Isn't that what you want?"

Draco curled the corners of his mouth into a grin.

"You want an honest answer?"

"Can you give one?"

"I think I've been more honest with you than you with me," he said and slapped the table. "But you want an answer. Well, I'll give you one: I don't know. Maybe, but not the way you're implying."

"Well I'm sorry if I've offended you. But I still think that's shite."

"It's not."

She selected the next comment carefully. "You could just force me – the way you did before," she said with a waver of her hand.

"I won't," he said with steady resolve.

"Well then, what's going on here?" she exclaimed and threw up her hands.

"Granger. After the war... things might be different. We might truly be friends. Would that be so impossible? We might even... well, I'd might like to get to know you a little better."

Hermione laughed. It was a defensive laugh, but inside she was scared. These replies to her questions were not what she truly expected, but Pansy had made her suspicious.

"Sorry old man, but we're on the wrong side of a war, and we'll always be on the wrong side of a war."

Draco stiffened. "No, we're on the same side Granger, and I'm afraid I will insist on that."

"So, this is the game?"

"Yes, and I have a job for you."

"Do you; what kind of job?"

"There's a formal event coming up. It's a recruiting trip to Durmstrang with a group we're trying to impress. I need you to go as a date. We must appear as a decent cultured lot and I think you'd fit in. There _will_ have to be precautions of course – we wouldn't want you trying to escape. But other than that, it just might be fun."

"When... and for – for how long," she stammered.

"All this weekend."

"Why don't you ask Pansy. I'm sure she would go."

"I did. She's going with me."

Hermione's jaw dropped.

"So... why do you need me?"

Draco smiled again. "For Blaise! You see, Blaise needs a date."

Hermione threw her serviette on the table.

"Are you mental? Have you lost every brain you have. You think I'd go with him after the cottage?"

"Granger, you said nothing happened at the cottage."

"Nothing happened. I was stripped naked... and nearly gang raped... starting with Blaise."

"Yes, but you said you weren't touched, and you wiped both their memories... _clean_!"

Hermione sat there as cold as a stone. She couldn't go with Blaise and she knew it. There was more to the story of the cottage. She didn't know why she didn't tell it all the first time. She had tried very hard to forget but couldn't.

She just couldn't.

:

* * *

A/N: Please forgive me for taking two weeks to get out a rather short chapter, but family arrived for the holidays and I thought they'd never leave. :)

Hats off to all the readers! The last installment was the most read yet. And a sincere thanks to LanaLee1, Loopygirl1, AnnaOxford, and mlmartindale04. Your comments are most appreciated!


	14. Durmstrang

**.**

**'You kissed me once and now you feel as if you've got some special kind of license to do it whenever you want?'**

― **Simona Panova, Nightmarish Sacrifice **

**.**

**The Tower Window**

**14\. Durmstrang**

**.**

In the middle of winter, the grounds around Durmstrang Castle were impossibly cold. Wrapped up in long wool coats, Hermione, arm and arm with her escort, approached the castle entrance guarded by huge wooden doors. They were greeted by a uniformed guard who flung the doors open with a wave of his hand and a small feat of magic. They stepped inside and were welcomed by warmth generated by a huge fireplace. Pausing to shake off the cold, they kicked the snow from their shoes and let their eyes adjust to the dim light.

Inside, the castle was dark. There were few windows to face the far northern cold and the torches along the wall were positioned scarcely between wide tapestries hanging over ancient looking stone walls.

She felt hands along her collar as she gawked at the storied interior and reluctantly came out of the coat.

"Thanks," she said, out of politeness. He gave the coat to a young attendant before shedding his own. "This gives a new meaning to austerity."

"It's Durmstrang – whad you expect?"

Hermione could feel her date's warm hand on her back, escorting her through the long stone foyer toward the Great room. It felt good. But in this place, anything warm felt good.

"Oh, you've experience with these conditions do you," she quipped.

"For sure – all the time."

"Bullshit Malfoy. A hard day for you is a draft in your study."

"Keep it up Granger and I'll give you back to Zabini."

"Don't talk that way," she said, moving closer and sliding her arm through his.

Behind them, Pansy and Blaise were just now entering the foyer.

After a brief greeting, they were led upstairs and down a long corridor leading to their rooms. Along the corridor walls, candles replaced torches. A curious redolence of beeswax and mutton tallow filled the air. Her room was at the very end of the corridor. Next was Draco's room then Pansy's, then Zabini's. At her insistence Blaise was as far away from her as possible.

She put her things away into a large oak wardrobe and cleaned out her valise. She changed into a warm terrycloth bathrobe and waited for dinner. Curiously there was a decanter of strong smelling wine and two glasses on a small table by the window. Perhaps this is what kept the students of Durmstrang warm in the winter. She looked over the Spartan environment and said, _what the hell_. She poured a glass and let her thoughts roll back to her admission to Malfoy several days ago.

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

As she strongly inveighed Malfoy's orders to go with Blaise, she grew angry. When she grew angry, she grew emotional. And with the emotion, began the tears. She hadn't cried since Ron left her and Harry in the tent in their quest for Horcruxes, that rainy night so many years ago. It wasn't many tears but it was enough to soften Malfoy's hard to read heart.

So she didn't have to accompany Blaise. The raping bastard. She would go with Malfoy instead. The thought occurred to her that this had been Malfoy's intention all along, but for some strange reason he wouldn't just come out and ask her. That would be too simple and too direct. The new Malfoy seemed to enjoy the obscure.

But she simply couldn't stand the thought of Blaise Zabini. She had never been able to tell Malfoy the whole story of that day at the cottage. Her reluctance to do so was a mystery in itself, but what she failed to say was that Malfoy had come to the rescue a wee bit late.

With Zabini's hand around her throat, he had choked her until she was almost unconscious. She stopped struggling in the hopes he would stop choking. It was then she felt the bastard slither inside her. He kept choking while he pulled one of her legs up with his free hand. Then the light began to dim. It was like her pupils grew smaller until the light of the room was the size of a marble then all went black. When the lights came back on again, the bastard was shagging away. Then Blaise paused for a moment. Perhaps to exchange choking hands so he could pull her other leg up, who knows. At that time, Malfoy entered the room and cursed Nott and then Zabini.

That part of Hermione that had craved adventure, and sought excitement had withered and died. Up to this point, she'd had a measure of control in these new missions for the Order. But that day in the cottage had changed all that. What she wanted now was to become the old Hermione. That was all.

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

The wine was strong. It almost burned going down. There she was in the middle of Durmstrang castle and so far away from home. What she would give to be curled up in her flat in London with a good book. The only connection to her world lay inside the two chapbooks back at Malfoy Manor. With a little luck she'd find some meaningful news on this trip to convey to the Order.

The balance of her life seemed to be hanging by a thread held by Draco Malfoy. He had done nothing lately she could think of as cruel. Certainly nothing like his old Hogwarts self. What if something happened to him while she was in the middle of this mess? Her life as she knew it would be over. No doubt, Zabini and Nott would have her chained to the walls of the cottage. She'd be raped every day. Pansy would turn her in to the Ministry. That was so like Pansy, and the corrupt Ministry would follow up with her execution in short order.

No, as much as she hated to admit it, Draco Malfoy might be the only safe and stable person in her life right now. And that change had occurred after she tried to kill him and failed. Damn, she could make no sense of the situation at all. Whatever the cause, it hardly mattered. She had to keep him healthy, physically and mentally.

But how much physically? Should she, as she playfully suggested, volunteer to go to bed with him? For her own sake as well as his? After all, they were sexually well acquainted now. She really didn't know, but she did know these thoughts were mental. It must be the wine talking. Ron always said she was a cheap drunk.

There was a knock on the door that ripped her from her dreams. She got up and addressed the caller through the door.

"Who is it?"

"It's me."

Speak of the devil. She unlatched and opened the door.

"What ever you're selling, I'm not buying any."

"Can I come in?" he asked.

"What the hell for?"

"G'damnit Granger because I'm bored. Do you mind?"

She rolled the corners of her mouth into a grin and strained to pull the heavy door open.

"You must be bored if you want to talk to me," she said and took her seat by the window.

Like her, he was wearing the thick terry bathrobe and slippers. He noticed the empty glass and port wine.

"I almost tried that. How is it?"

"Be my guest," she offered without thinking. The last thing she needed in her condition was the two of them pissed from the wine.

He poured half a glass and took a seat on the edge of the bed.

"So," he began. "I was about to take a shower, but there's no en-suite bathroom. It seems like you and Pansy are the only ones with those. The gents share a community shower."

"Surely a man with your physique isn't modest?"

For a moment Malfoy flushed.

"No," he replied. "But all the same, would you mind if I borrowed yours?"

She pretended to think for a moment.

"No. Make yourself at home."

"Thanks."

Taking the wineglass with him, Malfoy disappeared into her bathroom. Five minutes and a steamy shower later, he came back out with an empty glass.

The blonde hair was slicked back on his head.

"Do you mind?" he asked, pointing to the wine.

"Do you think you should?"

"That's not what I asked."

"If you must – go ahead."

Malfoy poured another. Instead of sitting on the bed he laid down after adjusting her pillow as a backrest.

"So whad you want to talk about?" she reminded him.

"Oh that, yes."

A strand of blond hair had fallen into his eyes. She was fighting the temptation to muss it all up. If he could only convince he'd never kill any of her friends. If he would only swear he would end this war. That's all it would take. If he would tell her that then she'd crawl into the bed with him right this moment.

"Tonight," he began. "We'll meet with several wizards. We need to think about recruiting these men. We need them for the war. I've already spoken with Pansy about this, and we'd like you and her to be very friendly. Make a fuss over them if you could."

"And _just_ how far are we to go," she asked, already alarmed.

"Relax Granger. Just be nice to them – you know – flirt. You can follow Pansy's lead if you must."

"We're supposed to be your dates. What does that make us look like."

"Look, it's just for tonight."

"So you want us to act like a couple of trollops?"

"That's not what I said at all."

"No, but that's what you meant."

"I don't think I'm asking that much. I mean it's not like you've never done anything like this before."

"And just _what_ the hell are you saying."

"I talked to Finlayson you know."

"So what of it?"

"He asked me questions about you – like he'd seen you before."

"I have an average face. Lot's of people think they've seen me before. "

"There you go again. There's nothing average about you Granger."

"You need to go Draco."

He shrugged and jumped up from the bed.

"Have you looked at your dress? For tonight..."

"No."

"Don't you think you should – if there's anything wrong, I mean."

She looked at him suspiciously, but got up from the chair and went to the wardrobe. She was about to open the door when she felt his hand on her shoulder. He spun her around hard until she was facing him. Like lighting, his hands shot under her robe and grabbed her by the waist. His hands felt hot against naked skin. He kissed her hard. She pushed him away with her free hands, but he still held her by the waist.

"Did you mean what you said the other night – that I should force myself on you."

"That was at Malfoy Manor – not here. Now get the hell out!"

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

"Where does he find these things?" asked Pansy. "I don't believe I could if I tried."

"I know. It's totally weird."

"Well, either way Granger, it's beautiful," she said and rubbed the material of the gown between her thumb and forefinger.

"He said he talked to you about..."

Pansy looked puzzled then a realization swept over her face. Pansy was devious, but sometimes a little slow.

She laughed a wicked laugh. "Oh yeah, he wants us to come on to those guys."

"Did he say that?" she cried incredulously.

"No, of course not. But I know Malfoy, remember?"

"That bastard."

"I don't know Granger. That one gent is seriously good looking."

"Oh, you're being awful."

Pansy laughed another wicked laugh. "Well, isn't that the pot calling the cauldron black. Didn't you have a hot thing going on with Victor Krum."

"That was ages ago – and I was too young for a 'hot' thing. Besides, we should stick with the dates that brought us, or we'll look like a couple of tarts."

"Who cares – I'll never be back here again. And I could care less about my 'date'. Draco told me about..."

"Told you what?"

"Oh there you are," they heard an all too familiar voice call out.

They spun around to see Draco with two Durmstrang gents in tow.

"I'd like to introduce some friends," he said. Both Durmstrangs were tall, and one, the gent Pansy was batting her eyes over, was quite good looking. The other wizard was rugged and thickly built but wasn't exactly what Hermione would call dashing; not that it mattered in the least.

"Hermione Granger and Pansy Parkinson," Draco announced and pointed, "meet Vincent Vulchanova and Harfang Munter IV."

"Well, so nice to meet you," Pansy said and immediately went for the hand of Vulchanova. Hermione was stuck shaking the paw of Harfang Munter IV.

"Well, I'll leave you two girls with these gentlemen while Blaise and I make some new acquaintances."

Hermione tried to object, but Draco disappeared before she could get a word out. She was now stuck with Harfang, and Harfang was no gentlemen. For most of the evening he couldn't take his eyes off her boobs and she didn't have much in that department to brag about.

The two wizards ran off for drinks but made it back in record time. Both Vincent and Harfang rattled on about the castle, it's legends, it's ghosts and their names, the types of stones that made up the castle, and Quidditch. Vincent suggested they move to a favorite sitting room. Hermione tried to object but was visually scolded by Pansy.

Hermione preferred mingling with the guests rather than killing time in the 'sitting' room and listening to more of Harfang's stories. She responded with one or two anecdotes of her own about Hogwarts but was never able to determine what occasion prompted the Durmstrang festivities in the first place.

She finally had to ask. "Harfang," she began. "What is the reason exactly for this get together?"

Harfang looked puzzled by the question.

"Your friend Draco – did he not tell you this?"

Hermione looked puzzled and shook her head.

"Very well – I tell you this."

Harfang began another long story that ran on until dinner. Her 'friend' Draco, as Harfang referred to him, was no where to be seen. Dinner was a long preponderous affair accompanied by acrobatics and feats of unusual magic.

It took Harfang until halfway through dinner to explain how friends of the south had come to the rescue when Durmstrang was attacked and and almost destroyed by a rival clan many years ago. Every year now they threw a do to celebrate their survival and to thank supporters. Apparently, someone from Draco's past made some key contributions. Yes – that was it: Slytherin and Durmstrang. What likely bedfellows. Both had such a love of dark magic.

"Well, why was _that_ so hard to say?" she asked him.

Harfang looked almost offended.

"In Durmstrang men rarely discuss military exploits with women."

"_Ohhh_, I see," she responded.

After dinner they took a quick tour of the castle. Pansy appeared to be concerned but even Hermione could tell she was only interested in the Durmstrang hunk she was with. Venturing into an ancient wing of the castle, Vincent explained how the walls there were twenty feet thick.

"They were constructed this way," he explained, "to fend off the northern winters and hold off powerful enemies in a siege."

"Well, isn't that special," said Pansy as she slipped her arm through his.

With the tour at an end, Hermione followed Harfang who followed Vincent and Pansy back to the sitting room. Wow – more time in the sitting room – these people do a lot of sitting, she thought.

There was a large fireplace in the back of the sitting room with two couches angled to face the fire. Sitting between the couches was a small table, but it was a useless and rustic fixture with that difficult to define Durmstrang flair. Pansy and Vincent took the couch on the left while Hermione looked around desperately for any excuse to leave. Finding none, she plopped down on the other couch and kept a modest distance from Harfang.

It wasn't long before the lights seemed to dim. At first, Hermione thought her eyes were getting tired and rubbed them gently. Harfang was a good kid but yapped incessantly of platitudes with little or no encouragement from Hermione. It was immediately apparent he hailed from a military background and would probably be sent off to a war somewhere in the near future to keep his family tradition alive.

It was not her eyes; slowly the lights in the room were dimming. Those nasty and clever Durmstrangs. It was some sort of spell to dim the lights. As if to make up for the lack of light Hermione began to talk faster. Suddenly Vincent and Pansy grew quiet. She hated to be rude, but she had to look their way. The room was not even dark yet and they were already tangled up like a couple of eels.

This was terrible. Poor Harfang would have his feeling hurt if he didn't receive similar affections. Oh well, it would just have to be poor Harfang, for she had little affection to offer.

Not content to talk about Durmstrang history, Harfang sent an arm snaking around behind her. Shortly after, a huge hand began to massage her shoulders. She made a quick promise to kill Pansy and Draco for getting her in this mess. The lights were fully dimmed now. In the flickering illumination of firelight, Hermione could see Pansy get up to slither out of her dress and then lay it over the back of the couch.

For a big man Harfang had quick hands and a light touch. She got so tired of pushing them away she grew arm weary. Would Pansy and Vincent ever finish? Almost jumping, she felt Harfang's lips on her earlobe. In the dark now she could see he was trying to kiss her. Poor kid, why didn't he just go for it? When he finally did, she felt sorry enough for him to kiss him back.

Feeling a cool draft under her hem, Harfang's meaty hand had slid under her dress to massage her thigh. Her legs were safely crossed and locked. Wrestling with Harfang's huge neat hooks felt like a hopeless endeavor. She could either extend more good-will toward Durmstrang Institute or make a scene by going back to her room alone. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and let herself go limp.

Finally, it went all quiet from Vincent and Pansy's side of the room. Just in time, she thought. Harfang's was getting more ambitious. It was time to go.

"I'm sorry old man," she said, rising from the couch. "I've had a long day."

"Will I see you tomorrow?" he asked desperately.

"I'm sure of it," she replied and gave him a little peck on the cheek.

Pansy, no worse for the wear, was sitting on the edge of her couch with her dress back on. Hermione pulled her up to her feet and the two said goodnight. Moving a little unsteadily, Pansy leaned against Hermione as the two shuffled off to their rooms.

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

Hermione didn't know if she could stand one more day of Durmstrang. The next morning she went beating on Malfoy's door. He opened the door with ruffled blonde hair in light gray silk pajamas. It made perfect sense, she thought. You couldn't expect a Malfoy to leave home without his silk pajamas.

"Oh," he said. "Did you miss me?"

"The hell with that Malfoy. I came to talk."

"Now that's the Granger I remember – come in." He swung the heavy door open.

She stormed in and stood there, arms crossed over her chest.

"Just where the hell were you last night. Pansy and I got stuck in the 'sitting' room with two Durmstrangs."

Draco tried to hold back the laugh but couldn't.

"You bastard. It's not funny. I get finger-banged by some huge mountain kid named Harfang, and I'm afraid to guess what Pansy was doing."

Draco laughed uncontrollably.

"I'm sorry," he said after getting control of himself. "I really am, but there was important business to attend to. And that huge mountain kid you mentioned is Harfang Munter IV – a direct descendant of the founder of Durmstrang Institute. But I checked on you and Pansy and they said you two had gone to bed. Was it that bad? I mean, you are alright aren't you?"

"Alright? Yes I suppose we're alright – I mean, I don't think Pansy had any trouble sleeping last night."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Well, Pansy never has trouble making friends these days."

"Oh, is that what you call it?"

"What do you call it?"

Hermione ignored him. "Well, when do we finish up here?"

"Just hold on a little longer. After breakfast we tour the grounds, so dress warm. We'll have lunch on the grounds of a famous estate just south of here."

"I hope it's warmer."

"Not, likely but it won't be long. We'll spend the afternoon back here and rest up for the banquet tonight."

Hermione head fell at the thought of another long evening.

"Look," he said. "I'll stay with you tonight if you like – no more mountain kid – okay?"

She nodded. With her arms still crossed over her chest, he stepped up and gave her a little peck of assurance on the forehead. With that, Hermione went straight away to the door and paused with one foot in the corridor.

There was too much instinctive predator in him not to follow. She knew he would. There was another brief kiss – when he reached for her, she smiled and slipped away.

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

How mental was this? She should have her head examined if she ever returned home. She'd done some clever things on this assignment, but putting her trust in Draco Malfoy wasn't one of them. But what else could she do? For some mental stupid reason – it just felt right.

At breakfast Pansy looked fit and fresh as a daisy. She looked ready for a another day, and night, of it, and she probably was. Being a slut never seemed to burden her with guilt, and you had to admire her for it. There was no trace of Vincent and Harfang, but they would most likely be back for the evening's festivities. Almost on time, Draco made it down to the table and took a seat beside her.

He remained with their party as the group moved away from the breakfast table to tour the castle grounds. In heavy coats to ward off the frigid cold, they ambled over the grounds. They could have been beautiful in the spring, but the muted colors and frozen plant-life failed to charm in the middle of winter. You could barely make the Quidditch pitch under a layer of frost and snow.

For lunch they traveled to the nearby Poliakoff estate. An old time supporter of Durmstrang Institute, Petyr Poliakoff was their host. Greeted in fine fashion, they removed the heavy coats and enjoyed a hot punch of spiced tea and wine. The mood and the air in the Poliakoff mansion was much lighter than that of the castle. There were many windows in the manor, and the light bounced around the walls of cream colored plaster and gilt ceilings. Many portraits and fine tapestries adorned each and every room.

In the Great Hall, they were seated at one end of a heavy oak dining table as long as the ones at Hogwarts. Musicians and revelers kept their spirits warm in spite of the icy cold weather outside. Gaiety and conversation bubbled all along the table. Giddy from wine, Draco was overly polite and cordial; Pansy would reel with epiphany but then fail to speak.

Their stay continued into the early afternoon. Still in great spirits, everyone was a bit bummed to have to leave for Durmstrang castle. They each returned to their rooms to rest up and dress for the evening festivities.

That was the last she saw of Draco Malfoy.

Following Pansy downstairs, the two mingled and conversed until the call for dinner. It must have been a dozen times that she looked through the crowd and thought she saw him, but never did. The promises from Draco Malfoy were just as pale as the hair on his head.

They were finally greeted by Vincent and Harfang, their escorts of the previous evening. Harfang looked bold but a bit comical in his military style uniform. Pansy was delighted to sit with Vincent and Hermione was already bored senseless with the thought of being stuck with Harfang. She scolded herself for ever counting on Draco Malfoy. Malfoy was such a bastard, she said to herself. And to think, she actually considered doing him physical favors!

The evening meal consisted of no less than five delicious courses. But as the night went on Hermione's mood began to sour. Would be it be another evening in front of the fire in the sitting room? Was that the best Durmstrang Castle had to offer. In the middle of a northern winter, it probably was. Hermione's gown was a satin black number with a low billowy neckline and an elongated split in the front hemline. The material was so slick that wearing anything underneath would look distasteful, prompting her to make a decision that she now deeply regretted. But to her credit she'd never planned an evening out with Harfang Munter IV. If the evening did lead to cosying up in front of the fire, her goods would be totally defenseless.

After dinner, Pansy and Vincent suddenly disappeared, leaving Hermione poignantly alone with Harfang. One by one, her defenses were crumbling away. It was bad luck but she would just have to make the best of it. With Harfang glued to her side, they mingled slowly through the crowd. Making the rounds until they were bumping into the same guests for the third time, it was finally time to take a load off in the sitting room.

Desperation led to epiphany as Hermione hatched a nefarious plan. A clever witch had to be able to make the best of any situation. If she was to endure Harfang's roaming hands again tonight she might as well work the situation to her advantage. Surely Harfang was trained in apparition. With any luck she could coax the horny mountain kid to take her back to her flat in London.

To disapparate from the castle, they'd need to wait until the crowd dispersed. That might take a couple of hours. There was no way she could keep him around that long, just talking about the weather. She'd have to give his hands a free pass tonight, but with the dress she was wearing she wouldn't be able to stop him anyway.

For the first hour of so Harfang was content to smooch and snog, just feeling her through the dress. But now his amorous intentions were picking up speed and she still needed more time. Another hour would be nice but she didn't see how she could get by with petting for much longer. Her fears about the dress had been right on. He had one of her shoulder straps down to her waist, and another hand had made a new home between her thighs. He pried them forcefully apart as gracefully as shucking an Oyster; it didn't take him too long after that to find the pearl.

Burying her face in the shoulder of Harfang's greatcoat, she shivered through a string of abdominal earthquakes before she pushed him away long enough to catch her breath. Harfang was a nice kid and it pained her to see the way he looked at her with expectant eyes and hugely tented trousers. She almost laughed at how easy it would be to bring him the relief he desired. As eager as he was, would it take more than a touch? Still, she had to string him along if the plan was to work. And if he did get her back to her flat - then what? How would she get rid of him? She had no wand and she would have no way out. No, she thought, fair was fair, and at that point Harfang would have finally earned the prize.

Harfang interrupted her musing by whispering his intentions in her ear.

"Harfang - no I can't - not here."

"Where Her-mi-o-ne. Where can we go - your room?"

"Harfang," she muttered.

"Yes, Her-mi-o-ne."

"We can't go to my room. Well have to go somewhere else."

"Go somewhere else? Where is it you want to go Hermione?"

"Back to my flat."

Harfang looked totally befuddled.

"You have a _flat_ around here?"

"_No._ Of course not – it's in London. You think you could manage apparating that far?"

"Of course Her-mi-o-ne, but I don't understand. What's wrong with your room and why leave tonight when you're due to leave with your friends tomorrow?"

"Well, that's the problem Harfang," she did her best to explain. "This group, they're not really my friends."

"They are not?"

"No, you see – I'm a bit of a prisoner."

"A pris-on-er? You mean like osth-age?"

"Yes Harfang, that's what I mean. I don't have a wand, so do you think you could... you know – zip me back?"

Harfang screwed his face and pondered over the problem for some time.

"Very well. I will take you Her-mi-o-ne. You must get your coat and meet me on the high keep."

Without another word Hermione returned to her room for her coat. Moving carefully so as not to be spotted, she followed Harfang's instructions to a remote and circular staircase to the very top of the castle. She could already feel the cold through the wooden door leading to the rooftop keep.

She pushed on the door; it rebuffed her efforts until she put her full weight against it. Finally on the high keep she moved in and out of the battlements looking for a proper place to wait. The night sky was frigidly cold and crystal clear and a bright waning moon was rising above the hills surrounding the castle.

Bright moonlight made shadows on the floor of the crenels and merlons along the tops of the high walls. Already, she was shivering from the cold. She wondered what was keeping Harfang. Had he run into trouble? Had he reported her story to someone in her group?

Finally, the sound of the stubborn door could be heard to open. Footsteps, moving aimlessly at first, began moving in her direction through the shadows. The male figure looked a bit small for Harfang.

"Goodnight Granger," the figure stopped to say.

"What the hell do you want Blaise?"

He looked over the wall to the frozen moat below.

"You thinking of throwing yourself over?"

"No, were you?"

"Draco was asking about you."

"What does he _want_?" she asked suspiciously.

"Said to bring you back to your room – he wants to explain something."

She could see the bastard was lying, but she could also see the handle of a wand extending beyond his palm.

"Well, why didn't he come?"

"_Hell_, I don't know Granger. You ask him when you see him. Now follow me," he said and extended the wand.

Blaise slipped in behind and kept the wand poked in her back. Reluctantly, and with do caution she complied. Back down the spiral stairs, they were in the corridor to their rooms within a few minutes. There had been no sign of Harfang. Now Zabini paused in front of his own door. Hermione snapped her head around suspiciously and was caught in the face by a gagging spell.

Before she could run, Blaise grabbed the collar of her coat and threw her into his room. He manhandled her into the room and threw her on the bed.

"You're very good with those memory spells Granger. Maybe too good. See, they had too clean of an edge around them. You need to work on obscuring that."

Hermione tried to scream but the gagging spell blocked any attempt to cry out. Blaise pulled off his heavy coat and tossed it over a nearby chair.

"I became suspicious you see. Getting knocked unconscious just doesn't work that way. And Malfoy's story was totally bogus, so I called in a friend of mine. Very good with unlocking memory spells, she is."

Blaise walked around the bed; pointing his wand threateningly.

"So the memories you took, they all came back you see. That whole day in the cottage – what really happened."

At this he grabbed her coat and pulled it off by the collar. He rolled her over and sat on her legs.

"So now Granger – we're going to finish what we started."

She could feel the effects of the gagging charm wearing off. She might get in one good scream before he cursed her again.

She made it a good one and felt the back of Blaise's hand across her face. Suddenly, there was the splintering of wood and the door to Blaise's room broke open.

In rushed Harfang, as big as a mountain. Blaise spun around to catch Harfang's meaty fist square in the face. With one hand Harfang lifted Blaise off Hermione and began to beat the hell out of him.

"No Harfang – you'll kill him," protested Hermione. Hermione did her best to pull Harfang away with little effect. He finally came to his senses to take notice of her condition.

"Her-mi-o-ne, are you hurt?"

"No Harfang, I'm fine – let's just go."

He helped her back into her coat and then checked his own for damage. They left Zabini on the floor, unconscious and bleeding, while they made their way quickly for the roof.

Safely on top of the keep, they took a moment to collect their senses.

"You better button up," he cautioned and she checked her buttons. If she ever had any doubt of Harfang's abilities they were behind her now. There he stood majestically in the military garb of Durmstrang Institute. Harfang checked the bear claw fasteners on his steel gray greatcoat and then reached for Hermione's hand.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

Hermione took a deep breath, knowing it would be her last until they arrived in London.

"I'm ready," she replied and squeezed his hand.

With a zip and a pop, Hermione could feel her arm being pulled almost out of it's socket. With the speed of a bullet, she was hurdling through the midnight air with Harfang Munter IV.

.

* * *

A/N: As usual a big thanks for comments from ladymagna1100, LanaLee1, dutch potterfan, and AnnaOxford. Also, warm grats goes out to all that read, faved, or followed.

A/N2: Going over this chapter again, and at a much later date, I realized this chapter and the story could have been much more about the mental and sexual angst Hermione feels for Draco. As crazy as it seems, she understands now that her only protector is Draco in this huge mess. Couple that with the fact that she can't resist him in bed causes her much grief. She struggles every day but can find no way to be loyal to her earlier feeling and convictions. Suppose I was trying to keep the story relatively tame with the exception of a few chapters with proper warnings. I didn't want things to spiral away from the plot I originally conceived. However - and that being said, If I ever do another story with a theme like this one. I'll know much better what to do. DQ


	15. The Locks of Rapunzel

**.**

**'Men are simpler than you imagine my sweet child. But what goes on in the twisted, tortuous minds of women would baffle anyone.'**

– **Daphne du Maurier, Rebecca **

**.**

**The Tower Window**

**15\. The Locks of Rapunzel**

**.**

Feeling like a rubber band, pulled and then let go, they were jetting through the cold night sky by the magic of apparition. Feeling first a weight under her feet, Hermione could then feel the tangled mess of her body reassembling into proper corporeal form.

She opened her eyes to take in the beautiful lights of London.

But there was no lights of London, only an inky darkness all around her. She was surrounded by a dark gray featureless landscape. The night air was still stirring and as cold as ever.

"Harfang? Where are we?"

Harfang didn't reply but she could feel his thick meaty hand pulling her in a direction toward the darkness.

"Come this way Her-mi-o-ne."

"This way?" she snapped, still bring pulled along. "This way where?"

"Lumos," Harfang conjured. By wand light, Hermione could see they were moving along a rocky trail where the air felt cold and thin. As they ventured further she could see an old stone cottage perched upon a mountain precipice. Illuminated by moonlight, the cottage was stone gray with a snow covered roof.

"Harfang – damnit. Where the hell are we?"

"Don't use that language Her-mi-o-ne. You'll be safe here."

"Safe? For sure. Who could ever find us?"

Half following and half pulled, Hermione accompanied Harfang to the door of the crumpled stone cottage. Harfang muttered another incantation of which she failed to recognize and the door popped open.

Standing in he door, Harfang slowly let his wand light cast over the room to inspect the contents. The walls inside were just like the aging gray walls outside. The cottage was bare and hollow with a small table, few old pieces of furniture. A bed lay in the corner, conspicuously. A generous fireplace took up most of one wall at the end of the cottage but it was lifeless and dim.

"Nox." Harfang extinguished the wand light and all inside went back to black. "Incendio!" A great jet of magic illuminated the hearth and immediately produced a full raging fire. One by one, he went about the room lighting small candles.

"Harfang," she said as is speaking to a child. "This is not London."

"No."

"You told me you could take me there."

"I said I could – I didn't say I would."

"That's clever... can you tell me where we're at? Are you clever enough to do that?"

"We're in a mountain cottage. And you are safe. You said you were a prisoner – now you are safe."

"But I wanted you to take me to London."

"You have said that already. I'm not sure about a jump that far..."

"But you said you could," she insisted but Harfang had no defense.

In the corner of the room there was a an old wool curtain strung over a length of wire. Harfang went into the corner and pulled the curtain closed. When he emerged his large two hundred pound plus frame was covered in only a night shirt.

"What are you doing?" barked Hermione.

"I'm dressing for bed. You should do the same."

"I'll do no such thing."

Hermione noticed a large padded armchair that resembled one in Hagrid's hut.

"I'll stay right here," she said and jumped in the chair.

"Tomorrow will be big," said Harfang. "You'll need to sleep – there's room for two."

"There certainly is not," she exclaimed and curled defensively into the back of the chair.

Harfang began blowing out the candles until there was only the light from the fireplace. Hermione saw him fall into the bed and pull the covers over him as he rolled to one side.

Folding her feet and legs under her, Hermione used the long coat as a blanket. Like a cat, she lay curled tightly against the chair back as the firelight flickered in ever watchful eyes.

Listening to the crackle of the fire and the wind whistling through the cracks of the door, Hermione wondered what she'd gotten herself into this time.

Lost to the world, Harfang was already snoring loudly to the sounds of sawing logs.

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

Hermione awoke in the chair, cold and stiff. She thought she'd become a permanent part of the chair by this time. The fire had burned out sometime in the night and she could see her breath as she blew on her hands to keep them warm. Harfang had quit snoring and now tossed and turned in a restless form of predawn slumber.

She desperately attempted to find the sleep that had evaded her for most of the night when she was startled to the point of falling almost out of the chair.

With a single explosion, the front door blew open and a thick shower of snow fell from the roof. When the shower of snow was over, Draco Malfoy and a half a dozen Durmstrangs were standing in the door with wands drawn. As fast as stiff muscles could work she was out of the chair and in Malfoy's arms.

The Durmstrangs entered and began to fire stunning curses at the groggy but awake Harfang. Amid the screams Hermione shouted out for them to stop.

"It was all a big mistake," she called out. "He didn't hurt me – stop it."

Nevertheless, the wizards from Durmstrang continued to administer a fitting punishment. Their curses burned holes though Harfang's cotton nightshirt as he tried to escape by squeezing under the bed. Draco pulled Hermione outside into the morning light and looked her over closely.

"Are you okay – he didn't touch you?"

"No, he never – I'm fine."

And with that, the adventure with Harfang Munter was over. With Malfoy's hand in hers they apparated back to the castle to gather their things. There was no sign of Zabini at the castle. Malfoy never asked questions of the night before, and Hermione never mentioned the events leading up to her attempted escape with Harfang.

Saying polite goodbyes to the Durmstrang lot, Draco, Pansy, and Hermione began the long journey back to Malfoy Manor.

By nightfall, Hermione was back in her tiny room and snuggling into her own bed. With the stove burning brightly, she never thought she'd be so happy to be back in the warm embrace of Malfoy Manor.

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

Hermione awoke in her tower room to another bright cold and crisp morning. She remembered writing in the Chap book the night before and couldn't wait to see what her response would be, if any. She turned to the page she had used to find her comment had been erased and replaced with a message from the Order.

'Norbert – Thanks for keeping us informed! Take Care.'

Every little bit of information she could smuggle to the order, she would do so. She'd just put the book back on the desk when Daisy arrived at her door with a bright face and eager to start the morning. After a quick shower and a cup of tea she stared at the jeans and the cotton top lying across her freshly made bed. Sullenly, she wondered why even bother with dressing?. The dressing gown was comfortable enough and it wasn't likely she'd have any pressing engagements.

But then there was a knock on the door.

"Are you dressed?" asked an elf that sounded like Alfred.

"I'm decent enough."

Alfred unlatched the lock from the outside and peeped in timidly. Seeing Hermione sitting on the edge of the bed in her dressing gown, he stepped in.

"Master Draco would like to speak with you."

"Right now?"

"Get dressed," he commanded. "I'll wait." With that brief exchange, the head house-elf spun on one heel and closed the door behind him.

Throwing on her clothes, Hermione clipped the bushy hair and slipped on a pair of glove leather flats. She knew this little 'talk' was overdue. No doubt Draco was ready to discuss her actions at Durmstrang. She fully expected punishment this time. She could almost feel Griselda's lash on her back already.

She followed the head house-elf down the tower stairs and into the corridor to the main dwelling. The redolent smell of wood burning was strong in the Great room this morning; the chimney wasn't pulling as it should in the calm morning air.

Breezing through the deer head corridor, they were standing outside Draco's office door. Alfred rapped a time or two and a muffled voice answered on the other side. Opening the door, Alfred stepped to one side and paused as Hermione entered.

Behind the huge desk, Draco was wearing his usual black jacket, white shirt, and black tie.

"Good morning Granger. Have a seat."

Hermione did so and looked back with a curt smile that said _challenge me_.

"I thought it was time we had a little chat."

Hermione nodded. "You're the boss."

"First, I wanted to tell you that I've had a talk with Blaise. He told me his side of the story and I wanted to hear yours."

"The bastard tried to rape me. That's all there is to it. Said he regained his memory and wanted to finish what he started at the cottage. That's all there was to it," she repeated.

"That's not what he said."

"Well of course not."

"He said he found you on the roof. He said you were trying to escape. When he brought you back down, the scuffle broke out with you and Harfang."

"He did find me upstairs and he did bring me back. But then he threw me into his room and bound me with a gagging spell. After the spell wore off I got in one scream and Harfang broke in the door. He probably would have killed Blaise if I hadn't stopped him."

"He looked pretty rough, that's for sure," he said and grinned. "Well, it won't happen again. I promise you that."

"And just how can you do that?"

"I will. Don't worry about it."

"I'll believe it when I see it."

Draco paused to signal a new line of questioning.

"Just what were you trying to do Granger, and what is it that you hate about me?"

"First of all, I don't hate you – quite the contrary actually. But you should have been there. That would have been you're best means to stop my escape. I was trying to escape – nothing more."

"Escape to where – a cottage in the mountains with Harfang Munter IV?"

"Look, he told me he'd get me back to London – he lied, okay?"

"I'll say. He probably couldn't have made a jump that far. It could have been dangerous."

"And this place isn't?" she retorted.

Draco ran fingers through his blonde locks.

"Can we stop this banter? Can we _just_ do that?"

Hermione nodded solemnly.

"Just what is it you want out of me Granger?"

Looking at at Malfoy groveling for an answer, she almost felt sorry for him. She would if he wasn't such a turd.

"Let me go Draco. It would be best for you _and_ for me."

"Granger, if you go back – to the Order, they'll send you on another mission. But now that you're known to our side it'll be dangerous – very dangerous."

"Na, no way. This kind of work is over for me now."

Draco laughed. "You're damned gullible if you believe that."

"Why do you want me here Draco? And why do you care?"

"It's my duty – to our side, you see. I have to keep you out of the war."

"Bullshite – that was no small effort – getting together those Durmstrangs the way you did. It would have normally taken weeks to find me. You managed in a day. Why?"

Draco leaned back in the chair and then stared at his hands.

"I know our situation here is complicated... but I hoped you could learn to be patient with your situation. You did commit a serious crime against me – and our side. You could have been punished severely Granger, but you weren't."

"What? This is not punishment?" she asked and threw her arms up.

"G'damnit Granger, don't you understand how lenient I've been. And don't you understand why?"

She shook her head. "No, of course not."

Draco's eyes were two fiery slits.

"Are you going to sit there and tell me that you can't possibly imagine?"

She could see his anger building. There was no need to raise the ire of the wizard further.

Hermione bowed her head – for only a moment.

"I might have an idea... but you should forget it Draco."

"I can't."

"We weren't made to be together Draco."

Draco waved his hand as if to clear the air.

"Nonsense, from now on," he went on. "You'll be expected at dinner every night. There will be no more evening meals in your chamber. If you waste food by not showing up you won't get breakfast the next morning. Do you understand?"

"Clearly."

"Also, Daisy will not be smuggling you food in at night. We know she's been doing that."

"And I'm to dress for these dinners."

"Of course. I've told you before, we always dress. You have to look like you belong here Granger."

Hermione sat there, a bit taken back and unable to phantom a reply.

"We have a lot to discuss Granger. And we can't do that if you're not at dinner."

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

All day Hermione mulled over Malfoy's demands. He wanted more than she could, in her good conscious, give. He was pressuring her to enter a casual relationship; one with all the benefit of a full relationship but without the commitment. And he didn't want to force her. This way he could pretend it was real. That way would flatter the male ego much more. When Astoria returned, and when the serious fighting of the war was over, she'd be out quicker than you could say _Wingardium Leviosa_.

In the future, to keep Malfoy content and on an even keel, she would have to give it up, but on a time of her own choosing. Whatever the future held for her, there was no running away from it. She would have to face it head on, and at dinner every night. So when Daisy arrived at her door at five thirty she made no fuss. After a quick shower and fluffy towel dry, it was only kosher to apply a bit of makeup and clip her hair.

Looking critically at the gown Malfoy had selected, she pulled a face. It wasn't the worst she'd worn by a long shot, but like everything else associated with these 'dress for dinner' events it was well over the top.

The dinner gowns were generally showing too much boobs or skin in one way or another. Each appeared to be selected to entertain Draco's particular perversion for the evening. Tonight's little black number was a quite skimpy up front but overall wasn't too bad; perhaps she'd gotten used to modeling his perversions. She couldn't really make up her mind.

With no sign of her host, Alfred escorted her all the way to the table. There were four place settings tonight. She was seated next to the end of the table, which was always reserved for Malfoy. She drank ice-water and made finger food disappear until voices neared the room.

It was Pansy. She could recognize the voice, and the man speaking was definitely familiar. If she hadn't missed her guess it was Vincent Vulchanova. That last night in the castle they'd come up missing, and Hermione suspected they'd run off somewhere private and cozy.

When it was time for greetings and introductions, Pansy and Vincent stepped forward as a couple.

"So, nice to see you again," Hermione said in turn to Vincent.

"The pleasure is all mine," he graciously responded. Immediately Draco ran to accompany Hermione so as to clearly indicate she was not 'single'.

The evening guests wallowed in frivolous conversations and overindulged in a three course meal. Hermione was sure she would make a complete pig of herself before the meal was over. She could feel the snug fitting gown growing tighter as the evening progressed.

As was the custom, Draco and Vincent marched off to enjoy brandy and cigars while leaving Hermione and Pansy to entertain themselves.

"Sorry to hear about your little trouble at the castle," began Pansy. "Blaise can be such a shite sometimes."

"It feels like all the time to me."

"And Harfang? Who would have ever thought he would have done that?"

"Oh well, it turned out okay."

"Just how on Earth did you persuade him?" Pansy asked as if hoping to catch a hot bit of gossip.

"It wasn't much," she cut Pansy short and then flushed slightly at the memory of Harfang's fat fingers. "No more than you and Vincent did the night before!"

Put off, Pansy dropped the chatter.

"You look lovely in that gown."

"It's too skimpy. I might as well have thrown my tit's out on a plate tonight."

"That's nonsense – the gown is lovely – very feminine. That's all."

Hermione waved her hand dismissively. Pansy studied her every reaction for several moments.

"Poor Draco," said Pansy. "Cooped up here in this place all day every day managing the war effort. You _are_ taking care of him aren't you?"

"What do you mean by that?"

"Oh come on Granger. Surely you're not the tight-assed little bookworm you were back at Hogwarts?"

"No, I suppose you could say I grew up - but I do have values," she replied, out the corner of her eye.

"That's fine, but relationships of a practical nature are looked over in times of war – you must know that."

Hermione felt like saying, _yeah, but we're not on the same side of the fucking war_. But she couldn't tell Pansy all that. It might make Draco out to be a liar and put him in further jeopardy for sparing her life.

The conversation was getting strained and Pansy obviously wanted to re-join her new beau. Not to be put off any longer, they boldly barged into the the sitting room to see Vincent and Draco joined in manly conversation. When they saw Hermione follow Pansy into the room, things got suspiciously quiet.

With a devilish grin Pansy used sultry slithering steps to narrow the distance between her and Vincent. Both men seemed to enjoy watching her.

"What is it Pans," asked Vincent?

"It's late and we don't want keep our host up too late," she said and shot a wry grin toward Hermione.

"Nonsense – stay as late as you like."

"You're too kind Draco, but we must be heading on. We have a big day tomorrow." Vincent looked totally puzzled.

"Have a seat Hermione." Vincent jumped up and motioned to the empty chair. Pansy gave Draco a little kiss and then reached for Vincent's arm. After brief farewells they were through the double doors with heels clacking down the marble floors of the corridor.

Draco eagerly turned to Hermione.

"You look good Granger. The dress, it's most becoming."

"Is it?" she came back, curtly.

"Yes. You say that like you don't believe it."

"Well, I'm glad you liked it Malfoy – you picked it out."

Draco paused to weigh the acerbity in her remark.

"Perhaps you could do better?" he asked playfully.

"At least... it would be my own choice. Whether you liked it would be another matter."

Draco appeared to be irritated with the badinage.

"There you go – being profound again – what does it mean?"

"The compliment would mean a hell of a lot more if I picked the dress out myself."

Draco chuckled.

"Would you like some wine," he asked, and offered a fresh glass.

Hermione nodded meekly and then took the glass.

"That's rather difficult Granger," he said while pouring. "But I'll see what I can do. I might be able to provide you with a selection. Would you like that?"

Hermione sat back languidly and rolled the wine around in her mouth. Pansy's remarks still weighed heavily on her mind. And suddenly a plan came to her head like a lorry full of bricks. Why didn't she think of this earlier?

She remembered her thought the day she assisted the stabbed and bleeding Malfoy back to the manor. Her plan to off him had failed but she had said to herself: _There might be another way._

"It might be better for us both Draco," she muttered and then regretted the catty remark. "However," she quickly added. "I'm left with the impression, after speaking with Pansy, that I'm here to provide you with company, amusement, and comfort in the night. And for all that, I don't in any way feel like I'm a part of this team, if that's your word for it. You never – ever – speak of anything of the war when I'm around."

"Neither have you – nor have you ever written a word in the journal as I've asked you on so many occasions."

"I could never write down any of those things. I mean if they were ever found – I'd be a traitor to own kind. Maybe you should just ask me. Is that too difficult?"

"What then Granger – what are you offering?"

"Quid pro quo – tit for tat," she said and grinned. "It's the only way I can trust you. I help you and you help me. And we both talk Malfoy – and that way you can't so easily dump me later."

Draco reflected on the proposal and pulled an animated face.

"Okay Granger – quid pro quo – tit for tat. But you show your tits first – tell me something on your side."

Hermione nodded.

"Okay," she said and swallowed hard. Malfoy had bit. Now to embellish the story.

"Every month," she began. "The Order has a meeting – an official meeting of the Order of the Phoenix. It's in Godric's Hollow in the old disused church building behind the cemetery. They meet at midnight."

"HUH," repulsed Draco. "This sounds like a bogus story and a trap Granger."

"And just how would I arrange that? Look, if you don't believe me, send a spy, a squib, someone that wouldn't be hurt if they stumbled upon the meeting."

Draco drew a tight face, not really sure of what to make of the offer.

"...an old disused church building, heh?"

"For sure. They built a new church, but the old building is still there. The Order has an agreement with the overseer if you must know. I was hoping to keep him out of this."

"Of course, but I just don't understand your change of heart."

"Well... you can take it or leave it – but I've made the first move – now you owe me something."

Draco sat there sourly like a child with a riddle he couldn't solve.

"I'll think on it Granger."

"Well then I'll bid you good night Draco," she said and rose from the chair and ran her hands down to smooth the dress. "I'm going to bed now – _my own_."

Draco jumped to his feet. "I'll have Alfred escort you."

She nodded and turned toward the door.

"Granger," he called out and she stopped. He moved forward to give her a light kiss on the lips. It wasn't much more than a peck, but it was the second time he's offered a small show of affection.

Hermione wiped it off her lips as she moved around the corner and out of view.

.

* * *

A/N: Thanks so much for the comments from Loopygirl1, ii-V-I, Guest(3), dutch potterfan, Ash-Castle, Puddleinthefloor, and AnnaOxford. You guys are great and I give all comments consideration.

As always, a sincere thanks to all that read, followed, or faved. D.Q.


	16. Godric's Hollow

**.**

"**How short a period often reverses the character of our sentiments, rendering that which yesterday we despised, today desirable."**

– **Ann Radcliffe, A Sicilian Romance**

**.**

**The Tower Window**

**.**

**16\. Godric's Hollow**

The long days faded into evenings without even a whimper. Draco had found more families that might support their cause and Hermione had been busy writing correspondence letters to pull them in. She found the effort hideous, but at least it was something to ease the boredom of her daily existence. No longer was she allowed out of the tower during the day, so the letters were written by her desk in her tower room. Draco feared fallout from the Ministry if it was discovered by the rank and file that her punishment was no longer in effect.

Every day at precisely five o'clock Daisy would knock on the door. Only Daisy was polite enough to wait for Hermione's answer before entering.

"Good evening Daisy."

"Good evening Miss – is you ready for your shower?"

"Let's do it," said Hermione and followed Daisy down the circular staircase.

After showering, Daisy would go with Hermione to the closet to select a gown. There she would find a selection that Draco had promised – for what it was worth. They were mostly alike, the gowns. All too showy, all to dressy for a small affair, and all showing too much skin.

"What do we have today Daisy?" asked Hermione while riffling through the line of hanging gowns.

"Master Draco had new ones brought in today."

"Did he? Ah, yes. And all over the top, just like the last lot."

But she made the best of it and generally opted for a color that stuck her fancy. Draco would never fail to compliment her choice, like she really had some measure of control over the outcome. She no longer paid any attention to his compliments. They were no more genuine than the thin veneer of class and civility that surrounded Malfoy Manor. At best, she considered it just the way he was brought up, and that his actions were in no way a deliberate attempt to be insincere or phony.

"Let's go with this one," she announced and pulled her selection from the rack.

Deciding it really didn't matter she selected the first dress off the rack. A low cut satin number, it was a knockout with matching heeled sandals. She had Daisy help her with the snug fitting zip fastener. She wondered if Draco was in error selecting the size or if she was putting on weight with the regular evening meals. She missed the exercise machines she had used at the health club before coming to Malfoy Manor.

With each day in the Manor, Hermione's real reason for being there felt more poignant and succinct. Each night after dinner, Draco would stare at her with hungry eyes. It was like an illness now and she was growing truly afraid he might completely lose it. Only his firm upbringing was holding him together, but she could clearly see his frustrations growing.

"Are we out of makeup," Hermione asked Daisy after spotting a small zit. She laughed to herself – _who knows? Maybe tonight the doctor will treat the patient._

"Oh no Miss," said Daisy. "We have more – and all new."

Hermione smiled her thanks and applied a thin cover with a touch of rouge to her cheeks. She clipped her hair and applied a touch of lipstick. Vanity did have it's price she thought and she might have to pay up soon. With one last look, she paused to critique. The hair clip, she thought. She did that every night and tonight it felt all wrong. She removed the restraining device and bushed her hair full and natural. She reflected for a moment and, pleased with the look, spun on one high heel toward the door. She looked a bit like a poodle but it just felt right.

One night now, and it would have to be soon, Hermione would have to cure Malfoy of this malady and follow him to his chambers. He would be the patient and she would be the doctor, and the patient would have to be given a full dose if he was to get over what ailed him.

_And the problem is_: one might ask. Hermione had not come to Malfoy Manor to fall in love or to help Draco Malfoy overcome his problems. For his effort in the war, she had come to kill him. But that was long behind them both. And while certainly not in love, she was slowly warming to Malfoy. After her breakup with Ron she had made a point to familiarize herself and enjoy the touch of other men. She was not as Pansy alluded, a frigid tight-ass. She had needs just like any other woman, and right now, her horns needed trimming.

She had, by this time, grown accustomed to the dinner dates that Malfoy so loved to host. They provided relief from the long pointless days and even the scanty gowns no longer seemed to bother her. She had even acquired a taste for the wine that Draco insisted upon every night. Occasionally they would have visitors: Pansy and her new found friend, Nott had stopped by, but never Zabini. Even, Gregory Goyle and Marcus Flint had found their way to Draco's dinner table

"Thanks Alfred," she said to her escort at the door of the dining room. She always insisted on walking as far as she could without the comical help of a house-elf.

Most nights it was just she and Draco and on this night her hunger was full on. Breakfast had been scant and lunch was hardly mentionable. Two lonely place settings adorned the end of a mahogany table as long as an airport runway. The master of the house was not yet present.

Barely able to control herself with the fat yeast rolls, she heard the clacking of heels depart the corridor to enter the softer wood floors of the dining room.

"Good evening," hailed the master.

"Good evening to you," she said with half a mouthful.

Draco motioned to two elves in white jackets. They scampered off to return with drinks. Tumblers of ice water and a dew covered silver carafe of wine were all placed within reach. Another elf came along with wine goblets and a corkscrew. He made a show of cutting the foil and pulling the cork. He let Draco sample the nose before pouring.

Hermione fidgeted and Draco spotted her superfluous movements. She had opted to wear a thong in the sleek gown, so as not to show pant lines. Now the back strap was cutting into the tender flesh between her arse cheeks.

"You okay?"

"Fine," she snapped back. "How are you?"

A little taken back by her inquiry, Draco reflected for a moment.

"Agonized over that bit of information you gave me."

"Information?" she said with half a yeast roll in her mouth.

"Damnit Granger – can't you wait? Even a minute."

She washed the roll down with a swig from her glass and snapped it back to the table.

"If I didn't have to wait all day for a regular meal," she fired back.

"It doesn't look like it's hurting you any." Draco canted his head to eye her over.

"What exactly do you mean?"

"I mean you're not losing weight."

"And how could I? Sitting on my arse in that room all day. I'd love some exercise equipment. I was hitting the gym pretty hard before I got stuck here, you know."

Draco nodded than laughed.

"And a fine arse it is."

The scowl on Hermione's face finally melted. She shook her head as if saying: _you barely got by with that one, you git._

"You were saying something about information?"

"Of course – the meeting at Godric's hollow – it's coming up you know."

"Oh... is it?" she said, putting on her best attempt at play acting. "...forgot all about that."

"Well, I haven't."

"I can tell somethings been eating at you. What do you propose to do?"

He fired back a distrusting and suspicious glance.

"Oh I don't know," he said with a sigh.

Hermione motioned for a glass of wine.

"We'll have to go after them," he said at last. "A big win here should end the war."

"You think so?" she replied and sampled the wine.

"Yes, and I don't understand why you're taking this so damned casually. These are your friends Granger – the ones you've talked so much about. Aren't you afraid they may all die?"

This was the question she knew he eventually had to ask. She had to play it right if she was to set the trap. She'd already warned the Order of her plan with the chap book. She would give them another heads up when the final decision was made. Malfoy was right about one thing: it would end the war alright - only, his side would lose.

"It might not be as easy as you assume," she casually retorted and rolled the stem of her wine glass. "They have spies, you know."

"Spies – how many?"

"Several, and it's your turn to tell me something. How many are you taking?"

"Why would you want to know Granger?"

Hermione mulled on the question.

"I might want to know your chances."

"Our chances for winning? I'd say those are guaranteed."

"No... I meant your chances to survive. I'll be in a hell of a mess here without you."

Draco paused to reflect.

"Look Granger – what I can do is this..."

There was a loud rap on the door.

"Good evening old man."

Draco snapped around.

"Goyle! This is a surprise," greeted Draco and jumped to his feet.

Gregory Goyle looked a little more thin and haggard than his Hogwarts self but in every other way looked to be a much improved man. He ran to the table to shake his old friend's hand.

"Gregory, I believe you know Miss Granger. And if you don't mind I'd like to keep her presence here a secret from the Ministry."

Goyle looked at Hermione and then at Draco. Puzzled at first, an easing of recognition washed over his face.

"Of course," he began. "Those bastards at the Ministry are a bloodthirsty lot. Besides, any friend of Draco's is a friend of mine." Goyle went through the whole formal bit of reaching for Hermione's hand and planting a kiss on her knuckles.

"Gregory, please have a seat."

"I can't stay," he protested, "but I will have some wine."

The closest house-elf jumped to fill Goyle's glass.

"Can we talk Draco," asked Goyle, doing his best not to be rude to Hermione.

"You may speak here Gregory. Hermione is on our side now."

Goyle glanced Hermione's way apologetically and then continued.

"It looks like the Durmstrangs will be teaming up with us at Godric's Hollow."

"That's great. I knew we could count on that lot."

Goyle smiled at Draco's approval.

"It should be a one-sided affair." Goyle leaned back in his chair and swirled his wine glass.

"We should sue for peace immediately after the battle," added Draco.

"You know they're those in the Ministry that want to keep fighting. They want to wipe out the Order forever."

"Sure, I know the lot. They have nothing better to do _than_ fight. We'll put them on the front lines."

Goyle nodded with a smile.

"Better to deal with their type now rather than later," continued Draco. "If we don't we'll have to fight them the next time."

"Let's hope there's not a next time."

"Of course," concluded Draco.

"Well, I've come at a bad time."

"Nonsense – stay and have a bite. Miss Granger gets tired of looking at my face every night."

Goyle smiled unconvincingly.

"I must be shoving off. I need to make sure this thing is coordinated."

Goyle made formal farewells amid growls from Hermione's empty stomach and finally departed without further ado.

Draco made a motion to the head waiter and a train of food was served minutes later. As usual, it was delicious but had dried out a bit in the process of waiting.

Not really eating, Draco played with is food and finally called for the removal of his plate. Hermione was just about to get her second wind and was a little put off by this. It would be rude now for her to continue stuffing her face.

"What's wrong Draco?"

"Nothing," came the terse reply.

"Bullshite. You look tired – is it the battle?"

"It's tomorrow night you know."

"Yes. Are you up for it?"

Draco nodded but looked worried. He had always been a little flighty in the face of conflict. Even at Hogwarts he always seemed to be as far away from the fighting as possible. That wouldn't be likely on the morrow.

"I'll be fine. Just need a full nights sleep. I'll get one of the elves to prepare a sleeping draught."

"Yes, that should help."

"Look," he said. "I'll give Alfred instructions... that if I don't make it back – he's to see you past the grounds. You'll need his help to make it past the magical protection."

"_You'll_ make it back Draco," she said, doing her best to comfort.

"Well, all the same."

She looked at Draco and realized he needed a shot of confidence as well as a good night's rest. Besides, an act of altruism now might work in her favor as they would no doubt suspect her of treachery later.

Throwing down her serviette, she turned her chair away from the table. She stood up and ran her hands down the slick fabric to smooth wrinkles and stood there a moment longer than necessary.

"I've got something to help you sleep."

He looked at her for the longest time, but there was no mistaking her meaning.

"You do. What's that?"

She leaned over and whispered something in his ear. With this he pulled himself from the chair and cupped her head his hands, compressing the bushy hair. He kissed her immediately after. When she responded he let the hands slip to her waist. Tongues slithered and played before breaking off the kiss.

With his arm around her waist, Draco led her upstairs to his room. It had many of the same refinements as the bedrooms along the east wing that she had helped restore. But she tried not to focus on this and instead concentrated on how to act. She would be warm and generous tonight but with a proper and measured reserve. Yes, that's what she would do.

After all, she was a grown woman with needs of her own. She would try and not dwell on those tonight. But as Draco ran his hands over the slick fabric she kissed him hard and felt her cool reserve began to melt.

He carefully unzipped the long zip fastener down her back and gently eased the straps of the gown over her shoulders. The whole works slid off her and fell into a pile around her feet. She carefully lifted one high heel and stepped away from the garment and back into Draco's arms.

Greedy hands ran up and down naked skin. Her cool reserve began to melt like butter on a hot tin roof. She could already feel the dampness between her legs.

Draco fell backward on the bed pulling Hermione with him. After a long kiss, she felt hands pushing gently on top of her bushy head. Letting him push her head down, she snaked her tongue along his chest, and down his belly, until she was holding him firmly with both hands and running her tongue around the rim.

Moaning in earnest Draco grew rock hard. Hermione continued to work her magic until he pulled her back up to him by the armpits and rolled her over. He yanked off the skimpy pants and pulled her ass to the edge of the bed. Holding her legs back, his tongue was free to go exploring. She was already wet and ready, but he acted as if he didn't know and didn't care.

His tongue gently furrowed between her folds until she writhed and squirmed. Only when she cried out did he stop. He massaged his length several times until he was hard and ready. Crawling back on the bed he slid one arm behind her neck and kissed her. On his tongue, she could detect the taste of her own sex mixed with wine as he began to ram gently between her folds.

Hermione drew a deep breath and then exhaled slowly to relax. She felt his overabundant length and girth knocking on her door. There was a brief but uncomfortable struggle, then a giving way, then a long easy slide and he was inside of her. She sighed in pleasure and delight. Slow, careful, and kissing movements quickened to a steady pace. Without thinking, her movements matched his in a silky rhythm

Draco rolled the two of them over, leaving Hermione on top to control the action. Warming quickly to what he was doing, she quickened the pace out of desperation. It wasn't long before she could feel a warm wave and then her tummy tighten and quiver. Driving her hips violently into his, she exploded and then fell into his chest and arms, prostrate.

But Draco had not come with her, and in a few minutes she was rocking her hips gently again. He rolled her over again and she was lying face up and looking deeply into his eyes. She was giving host to a wild bull, or so it felt. Draco began pistoning his full length and she immediately moaned. This couldn't continue for long and she cried out, calling his name several times before she, once again, gave way to rapture.

She dug her fingers and nails into Malfoy's back and buttocks as if to take him to the same place she was going. And it worked; for just at the height of her ecstasy she could feel him explode deep inside of her.

They spooned for a while and a house-elf maid appeared out of nowhere with towels. Had she been hiding in the shadows all along? Hermione was too exhausted to care. The elf mumbled something and she rolled over on her back while the elf ran the palm of her hand over Hermione's lower tummy in lazy circles. There was a tingling sensation and then a definite feeling of warmth, and then the elf's wandless magic and birth control session was over. Daisy had always done the same thing for her in the tower room. Hermione had also been trained to do this, with or without a wand, but sometimes it was just easier to let the house-elves do their duty.

The hand maiden then blew out the candles and left the room. Feeling Draco's solid grip around her waist, he pulled her tightly into another spoon. She lay there motionless for few minutes and let her mind wander over what had just happened, trying to guess how things might change now.

She could tell by his breathing now that Malfoy was fast asleep.

:

* * *

A/N: Rounding up the usual suspects we have, AnnaOxford, annaea3077, LanaLee1, and dutch potterfan. Thanks you guys for the regular comments. And while we're at it let's also deliver a warm grats to all who read, followed, and faved.

About this chapter: the comments have been piling up (mostly guest reviews) about a lack of romance and the hope of seeing these two together again. Well, here it is. I was just waiting for the right plot inflection to let it happen, but there have been smoldering moments between these two. It did take a ton of encouragement for Hermione. :)


	17. Reprisal

**.**

"**But life is a battle: may we all be enabled to fight it well!**"

**\- Charlotte Brontë, The Letters of Charlotte Brontë **

**.**

**The Tower Window**

**.**

**17\. Reprisal**

Cocooned between satin sheets, a feather mattress, and a fluffy thick duvet, Hermione continued to doze dreamily as morning light called to her from between a crack in the curtains. Rolling away from the intrusion, she felt the silky smooth caress of satin against her naked frame. Wood in the corner fireplace had cracked, crumpled, and fell into a pile of coals during the night leaving the smokey redolence of firewood in the morning air.

Her left brain said to get up – her right brain said to hell with it. It was the best she'd slept since arriving at the Manor. How would she ever manage in her own room after this.

Draco was gone. He left sometime before morning light and whispered instructions for her to sleep-in after planting a kiss on her cheek. She could now hear elf footsteps shuffling around the bed.

"If you be requiring breakfast – you best be up miss," said an elfish voice she didn't recognize.

Hermione mumbled something then struggled to sit up in bed and felt muscles along her abdomen complain. An acute soreness, one that was all Draco's doings, was sharply felt between her legs as she struggled out of bed. She grimaced a smile, giving it a womanly welcome with no further thought. She then slid into a dressing gown and slippers the elf had laid on the bed.

The elf led her to a small upstairs dining room where a table was made up with a single setting. There was coffee, fresh orange juice, and buttered toast. Hermione was not hungry but ate a single boiled egg sprinkled with a hint of sea salt.

"Where is Draco?" she asked the elf.

The elf shook her head. "I got no idea Miss. He says to me to tell you, before he took off that is, to expects him back tonight," she said while cleaning the kitchen fixtures with an old cloth.

Hermione nodded. "I see... did he say when tonight?"

The elf looked back helplessly and wiggled her ears.

"No Miss. Master Draco – he don't tell a house-elf a thing like that. Why, he never would."

Hermione smiled at the elf's broken English.

"My name is Hermione – what's yours?"

The elf looked to be taken a little off guard by this.

"My name is Hattie. But I already know your name – all the house-elves – they know your name. You is very beautiful Miss Hermione."

Hermione brushed back a lock of curly hair self consciously.

"Thank you."

"And you make the master very happy. He was very sad when Miss Astoria done off and left."

"Miss Astoria," asked Hermione gingerly. "Did she stay here?"

This was the first time Hermione came to realize that even elves could blush.

"Oh Miss," said Hattie, shaking her head. "I ought not be talking about such things. I is a house-elf and a house-elf ought not be talking at all."

Hermione laughed warmly.

"Oh, I won't tell Hattie. You can talk as much as you like."

"You is very nice Miss. And that – that's why the Master likes you. He's very happy now, the Master."

"You think so Hattie?"

"Oh, I knows so Miss. I knows it very well. Would you like some more coffee?"

Hermione could make out the bottom of her cup.

"Oh, I don't think so Hattie. I need the loo. Could you help?"

"I'm sorry Miss. Hattie should have asked you."

Immediately, Hattie took Hermione down a corridor from Draco's bedroom. It was lined in tiles that felt cold in the morning air and was delicately furnished. Certainly at some time a woman's touch had occurred here.

Throwing the dressing gown over a hook, she stared at the toilet like she'd never seen one before. Compared to the chamber pot it was like sitting on a cloud from heaven. Hermione was embarrassed for how long she had to pee and hurried back into the gown. Making time to wash, It would have been a shame to skip the lavender scented soap and big fluffy hand towels laid out by the sink.

Hattie was still standing patiently outside the door.

"Will you be taking me back to the tower now Hattie?"

"If you like Miss. But you can stays a while if you want."

"Okay Hattie. I'll stay a bit."

Hermione traded the coffee for tea while Hattie continued to clean the kitchen with the old rag. For another hour or more Hermione listened to her tell stories of life in the other half of the Manor.

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

Hermione tore herself away from Hattie's kitchen to meet with Daisy and to begin her day in the tower. Sitting by the window she tried to write the correspondence letters but was constantly interrupted by thoughts of the night before.

As the day progressed she was greeted by a new set of worries. The Order meeting was only hours away and she still had no idea how many wizards Draco intended to send. She sent another message to the Order warning them the Ministry was planning to attack and that she would send more details as she found them. Her information was too scant and she knew it. They needed to know how many to plan for.

She was pleasantly surprised with Daisy showed up at her door at the usual hour of five o'clock. Draco had just told her on the previous evening there would be no dinner tonight.

"The Master said he will try and be at supper," Daisy croaked.

"Did he now. Well, it was good for him to let us know – wasn't it?" quipped Hermione.

"Yes Miss, it was," Daisy replied in earnest, missing the sarcasm.

She followed Daisy to the shower and finally to the closet of gowns. She searched through them all looking for something conservative but settled for the least outrageous of the lot.

Alfred dropped her off at a deserted dinning room. There was a place setting for herself and Draco, but the master of the house was nowhere in sight. This didn't stop Hermione from beginning and enjoying the meal. She hadn't eaten since Hattie's scant breakfast and was well past famished.

Half way through the meal, the master of the house sauntered in to join her. He was dressed properly but not in the formal manner he normally chose. He took a hurried seat.

"Good evening Granger," he said, still insisting on calling her by her last name. She thought after last night that might have changed.

"Hello Draco." She caught herself staring for a moment then stopped, abruptly going back to her meal. Why was that she asked herself. What was wrong with studying the man who had shagged your brains out just the night before. It was self consciousness and that was all.

Draco also seemed a little unsure on how to best begin.

"You look good tonight," he remarked at last.

Now they were on familiar ground and Hermione loosened up immediately. She looked down at the gown she chose.

"Well. I had hoped to find something a little more conservative and a little less tits-out but here you have it."

Draco grinned. He still had not reached for food or wine.

"It looks lovely."

She shook her head. "I don't know – you always say that."

"Well... how was dinner?"

"Fine. Why didn't you join me?"

Draco shook his head and finally reached for the wine.

"Oh, it's the Durmstrangs – we've had trouble persuading them to join us."

"I thought Goyle said they were in the bag."

"We thought so. But that's the way it goes when the talking stops and the fighting begins." With that he poured a measure of wine.

"I see. Maybe the Durmstrangs aren't so tough after all."

"Yeah, maybe not. So, how was your day?"

"Okay. I talked with Hattie a while before meeting Daisy."

Draco nodded. "For sure. Hattie does love to talk – hope she didn't tell you too much."

Hermione shook her head. "I tried digging for secrets – but she wouldn't – but then you owe me right? I can ask you. That was our agreement, wasn't it? Quid pro quo."

"I suppose."

"You suppose. Hell, will you or won't you?"

"I will if I can – so what's your question?"

"I think I should get several questions Malfoy."

"Alright – what's the first?"

"Astoria – how long has she been gone?"

"She left two months before you got here."

Hermione smiled. "I like this game. Is she coming back?"

Draco looked away for a few moments. When he looked back his countenance was steadfast.

"You don't have to worry about her."

"But that's not what I asked."

"She's not coming back."

"I don't guess it would do any good to ask if you're lying."

"Then why ask – beside you're out of questions."

"Bullshite, I'm do one more Malfoy."

"Okay Granger – one more then."

She nodded. "Were you serious, when you said if you won the battle you'd sue for peace."

"Yes, I was. Now you're out Granger, and I have a question for you."

A little taken back – she nodded.

"When you described this meeting in Godric's Hollow I said it was a trap. You said it wasn't but it is isn't it?"

"What would you do if I said it was – would you call off the attack? And if you did call it off what excuse would you give? Would you say Granger told you about it and then admitted later it was a trick? No – you couldn't do that could you? You'd look like a fool. And what about some other excuse? You'd simply look scared to go – wouldn't you?"

"Good points Granger. You're right – we're going. Trap or no trap – we're going. Anyway, they don't have enough to stop us."

"You seem confident – how many wizards are you taking?"

At this question, Draco balked, but then pride and overconfidence got the best of him."

"Nearly forty. We have almost forty wizards."

Hermione tried to hide her concern. Draco might be right. Trap or no trap, they might be too strong for the Order.

"Yes," she admitted. "Those are large numbers. But you needn't be too overconfident Malfoy. Just bring your arse back."

"I will. And I have one more thing to ask. Not a question but a proposal – I'd like you to move your things in with me."

Hermione chuckled.

"My things – you mean my bag – my valise?"

"However small, or small in number, I'd like you to move those in with me."

"Draco..."

"Look, don't tell me you didn't enjoy last night."

Hermione looked back sternly, but mute. She could offer little to no defense.

"Draco, can we talk about this when you get back. I mean after all – you have a battle to fight?"

"I'd like to have your answer now – before I go into battle."

Hermione dropped her head with a grimace.

"I'm not ready for that. I hoped last night would help you through the battle, but I'm not ready to jump into something more."

"So what are you waiting for – more questions – more Quid pro quo."

"Well yes. I barely know you."

"Barely know me. Granger you've known me all your life."

"No, I thought I did," she said and shook her head, "but obviously I didn't. Look Draco, you're believing your own stories again – we have a war between us, you and me. We're not on the same side."

Draco sulked. "So that's what I'm to take into battle then – rejection?"

"Then don't go into battle. Call off the attack. I wish I'd never mentioned it anyway."

"I'm curious as to why you did," he asked then pulled a face.

"I'm not sure. Maybe I was hoping it would help end this damn war. You figure a way to end this war Draco, without killing any of my friends and I'll do anything you want."

"Anything?"

"Yes. Anything."

"May I have your word on that?" he said and smiled wryly.

"I'll put it in writing if you like."

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

Hermione tossed and turned on her hard mattress all night. No matter what happened at Godric's Hollow, she would be to blame for any tragedy that occurred there. Tortured by those thoughts, she waited through the long and silent night for Daisy's morning arrival at her door. With morning light well into her window, Daisy appeared to be overdue. Had something gone wrong? Exhausted by the suspense she lay back down and was almost asleep when the belated knock occurred.

Hermione sprang to the door. Daisy was standing there with her breakfast serving of bread, soup, and tea.

"Come in Daisy. Have you heard anything this morning – any news of Draco?"

The little elf's huge eyes went even wider.

"News? No Miss," she said, putting Hermione's breakfast on the hob. "I haven't heard any news, but then Daisy never hears of no news."

"But if something happened to Master Draco, you would hear that wouldn't you?"

Daisy's expression changed from confusion to fear. The house-elves lived in an insular condition where the head of the house was lord and master. Their whole existence depended on this. Frozen in fear, Daisy didn't know how to answer.

"I'm sorry Daisy. I can clearly see I've frightened you. Can you take me to Alfred."

Daisy was still clearly alarmed. The range of motion between her large ears and eyes said this loudly.

"Oh no Miss. They would beat Daisy bloody if'en I was to do that."

"I'm sorry Daisy. I shouldn't have asked. Can _you_ ask Alfred to come here?"

Daisy rolled her huge glassy eyes.

"If'en I see him, but Daisy is not allowed in the other side of the house."

"Well... just try and get word to Alfred. I'd like to speak to him."

Daisy swallowed hard and promised she would. It was mid-morning before the next rap occurred on her door. As was customary with Alfred, he knocked once and let himself in.

"You wished to speak with me?"

"Yes Alfred, I do. I want to know about Draco, is he back?"

Never being particularly wordy, Alfred nodded mutely.

"Is he okay? Is Draco okay," she implored.

This time Alfred made no sign or gesture.

"Alfred, tell me."

"He's injured. They brought him in this morning, gravely injured."

Hermione gasped and threw her hand to her mouth.

"Can I see him?" she asked when she recovered enough to speak.

Alfred looked puzzled by the question. Acclimated to a life of following orders he didn't know how to take an action on his own.

He shook his head. "He's asked for no one."

"Yes, but surely... can you get word to Hattie. Tell her I want to see him?"

Alfred paused to study the question. Obviously troubled with the request, he left leaving Hermione to wonder.

Sitting by the window all day, Hermione watched the sun arc through the southern sky before dropping below the horizon in a fiery orange ball. She was startled by a loud rap on the door that could only be Alfred's cane. He opened the latch and stepped inside.

"You can follow me now," he stated with his usual brevity and turned toward the stairs.

Hermione tied the sleeves of her cardigan around her neck and ran to catch the portly elf. Alfred was the only elf allowed access to all areas of the Manor, and appeared to revel in that privilege. They proceeded to the upper corridor where Hattie met them outside the family quarters.

"Good evening Hattie."

"Evening Miss," she said. Alfred nodded the exchange and disappeared. "Only the close friends are here," she said in a croaky voice.

Hattie led her to an adjoining chamber. Pansy, Gregory, Theodore, and her pal Blaise were there with long faces. Pansy ran up to Hermione.

"Sorry we couldn't bring you earlier, but half the Ministry was here."

Hermione nodded. "How is he?"

"Better," she said, "but he's not out of the woods yet.  
"It's serious then?"

"Oh yeah. He got blindsided with a curse to the head."

"Is he conscious?"

"Yes. I'll take you in." Pansy took Hermione by the hand and pulled her in. Draco was lying elevated with a huge turban of bandages around his head. The left side of his face was swollen beyond recognition. They all followed Pansy and Hermione but stopped at the foot of the bed. Hermione proceeded up to Draco and took his hand. He managed a smile with the side of his face that was still functioning.

"I see, you'll go to any length to get out of our agreement," she began.

Draco motioned Hermione closer and he managed a whisper into her ear.

"I will," she said. "I will." At that she pulled a chair up beside the bed and cradled his hand in hers. Pansy, Gregory, and the others looked at each other approvingly and signaled one another with a nod before leaving the room.

Hermione didn't notice them leave. She was concentrating empathically on the wounded warrior as if watching every moment for signs of improvement.

.

* * *

A/N: Generally chapters are released on a one week then two week basis, but this one seemed to end best right here and have busily squeezed it in. Was a little nervous before last weeks installment but it seemed to go over well. Big thanks for the comments from LanaLee1, AnnaOxford, Loopygirl1, annaea3077, tneha, and ii-V-I. And as always a big thanks to all that read, followed, or faved. :)


	18. The Mend

**.**

**"Desires are what can most easily ruin us, lovely."  
― Simona Panova, Nightmarish Sacrifice **

**.**

**The Tower Window**

**.**

**18\. The Mend**

It was several days now, and the progress was slow, but Hermione could make out small improvements in Draco's condition. The elves called in an elf Healer, but he could do little more to improve upon the care that Draco had already received.

_It will take time_, he said in a croaking elf-like voice and marched away as if making some great discovery.

The left side of his face was still a swollen mess, but he could open his right eye and mumble things into Hermione's ear. It was painful to watch, and the amount of guilt Hermione felt was difficult to measure. When it was too difficult to bear she would dip her head and silently curse the war.

There was no word on how the Order had fared in this battle. She hadn't seen Pansy since the first evening of Draco's return and she didn't feel comfortable asking Nott or Goyle. Of course words between her and Zabini were impossible as she kept a wide birth between herself and this wizard.

She had, through all of this, become great friends with Hattie. Every morning, when she was done with her shower, Daisy would take her down the spiral stairs to meet up with Alfred. From here, Alfred would take her to the upstairs bedroom corridor where Hattie ruled with complete dominion. Hattie would drop her off at Draco's side where she would spend the day. It was thought by the elves, and Hattie particularly, that Hermione's presence helped Draco's condition.

Often times, when Draco napped during the afternoon hours, Hermione would join Hattie in the kitchen for tea. There, Hattie would regale Hermione with tales of the upstairs quarters that ran back to Draco's childhood. As Hermione listened to these sweet tales of Draco's past she wondered if they were talking about the same person she knew at Hogwarts.

Several days after the incident Draco's condition neared a critical juncture. With the effects of the curse working out of his body his temperature began to drop. Hattie had the fire in Draco's room made as big as the small fireplace could manage but it just didn't appear to be enough. When Draco began to shiver without end, Hermione elected to take action herself; she stripped out of her clothes and pulled back Draco's covers. His pajamas would have to come off, and she looked around for Hattie for help.

"Let's get him out of these things," she said to Hattie who was, no doubt at first, a little stunned at the sight. But she quickly understood her intention and ran to assist.

"Yes Miss – I'll help."

The two of them struggled to get him out of the tops and bottoms. Draco was shivering furiously as Hermione jumped under the covers. He felt ice cold to the touch.

"He's ice cold," she said to Hattie. "Keep stoking the fire."

Gradually over the next couple of hours Hermione could feel Draco's skin grow warmer. He had stopped shivering but was still in danger of hypothermia. The short winter days provided scant sunlight and this one was nearing a chilly end. With little daylight left Hermione made the decision to stay.

"Hattie," she called to the old napping house-elf.

"Yes?"

"I think I should stay – he's much warmer but I don't feel good about leaving."

Hattie wiggled her nose and ears. This could only mean a decision was being made. House-elves always struggled with decisions. Finally the ears stopped wiggling.

"Yes, Hattie thinks you should. Alfred will need to be told," she said and started up.

"Good, but come back. We'll need to tend the fire."

"Yes Miss."

With this, Draco awoke and looked at Hermione through the one good eye. He managed a crooked smile and relaxed from head to toe.

Hermione squeezed and pressed tightly against Draco as if willing all the warmth from her body into his.

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

Awakened the next day by the morning light, Hermione noticed something odd poking her. She had just enough experience to know it was a mental morning thing with men and not to be put off by it. Still, it was annoying.

Draco appeared to be awake and much recovered.

"Good morning," she said.

"Morning," he replied with a bit of a slur.

"You feeling better?"

"Yes, feeling better. A little surprised to find you here – what's the occasion?" he asked and she laughed.

Hermione needed the loo and to freshen up before answering questions.

"Can you get up?"

"I already am."

"I mean out of bed you silly. We need to talk."

"Give me a minute then."

"Well, for sure." Hermione slithered out from under the covers and came back from the loo wearing a fresh bathrobe and looking better.

"Do you need help?" she asked as he struggle to get up.

When he nodded, Hermione grabbed one arm and led the silver-haired wizard into the loo. He came back out holding himself steady with the good arm and wearing half of the bathrobe. She helped him get the still useless arm into the sleeve of the robe and tied his belt.

"Okay – I can do the coffee thing."

"Good. It smells like Hattie has that ready."

Hattie was flabbergasted to see Draco walking under his own power. After a suitable time of praises and hugs she allowed Draco a chance to sit while she set cups and saucers and poured the coffee.

Draco stirred cream into his coffee while watching the eddies of cream swirl and then fade to brown.

"I gather – with you being here that is – that my condition wasn't too good last night?"

"No, you had chills. Really bad ones. We had to get you warm, so I skinny-ed out of my clothes and Hattie helped me with yours. Damn, we were both shaking before you warmed up."

"Ah, so that was it. I was a bit surprised to see you there, starkers and all that."

Hermione laughed. "I bet you were. Do you know what happened to you?"

Draco only nodded.

"I felt caught in a dream – a bad one. But I feel better now."

"Great, that's good to hear."

"I know you've got questions Hermione. Can we talk this over dinner tonight?"

Hermione nodded a little sideways.

"Sure. I guess so."

Draco managed to get up and plant a kiss on her forehead.

"I suppose I owe you another favor – for last night that is – but for now I need a shower?"

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

Hermione labored over boring correspondence letters for the rest of the day. Having trouble putting two sentences together, her mind kept wandering back to the night before. It was almost six o'clock when Daisy came calling at her door.

Together they went through the whole process of showering, dressing, and putting on makeup for the evening meal. It seemed like a lot of trouble, but even Hermione had to admit, the feeling was beginning to grow on her. The process had distilled down to her wearing two things – a pair of heels and a sleek evening gown. That was it. It felt like slithering naked in a sleeve of satin as she took small steps in the narrow hemline.

With Alfred in tow, she approached the dining room door from the long corridor running off the northeast wing. Coming the other way, and grinning from ear to ear, was Pansy Parkinson. She wasn't formally dressed, as she would need to be, to attend one of Draco's dinner engagements.

Hermione took notice of her attire. "You're not eating?"

"No – I can't stay – but you look lovely."

Hermione didn't reply. She never replied to compliments on the clothes Draco picked out.

"Did you see Draco?" asked Hermione.

"Yes, and he's doing so much better – still a little rough but much better," Pansy went on, still smiling ear to ear, suspiciously.

"Oh – well that's good to hear."

"Well, you've seen him today, haven't you?"

Hermione nodded, and Pansy was still grinning.

"You have such a wonderful effect on him."

"Do I?"

Pansy shook her head. "I'm sorry – I shouldn't be playing the abstruse – I think it's just wonderful."

"Wonderful – what's wonderful?"

"That Draco's asked you in – to move in with him, I mean – I think it's just wonderful."

Hermione paused to reflect but with a slightly soured expression.

"Well, yes – but I haven't accepted."

Pansy smiled as if privy to a secret she couldn't divulge.

"Yes, I know you're just being coy..."

"No I'm not..."

"...a little reserved then. That's perfectly proper, but you'll be a big help to Draco, I'm sure."

"Pansy look..."

"Simply must be running along..."

"Look..."

"Goodnight," she said and issued with the same goofy grin then scurried off down the long corridor.

Hermione shook her head and proceeded to the table alone. It seemed that house-elves were no less capable of spreading gossipy rumors than their human counterparts.

Always hungry, she simply couldn't be placed anywhere near the yeast rolls without being effected.

"Linty," she called.

"Yes Miss?"

"I'd like some wine," she said and held her glass up by the stem. Officially, Draco always went through the ritual of sampling the first bottle opened but there was always some on hand.

The elf rushed back in with a bottle from the previous evening, The wine was another thing she'd come to enjoy. Linty bowed slightly and rushed back to his post.

Shuffling sounds, moving a little slower than normal, announced the master of the house. Leaning on a cane, Draco stopped to address, if he had his way, the would-be lady of the house.

"Good to see you up and around," began Hermione.

"It's good to be around, I can tell you that." He took her hand gently and touched her knuckles to his lips. "I guess you talked to Pansy."

"_You_ bet," she spat out the words.

Draco picked up on the inflection.

"Oh, I see – Pansy always has had a habit of getting ahead of herself."

"You can say that again. But repeating gossip is a little more like it."

Draco was forced to nod.

"She's always looking after me, you see. Fancies herself as a bit of a mother figure I suppose."

"Yes, well, before we get into that – can we discuss the battle? How'd it go?"

"Oh, you look nice tonight, by the way. Did I tell you that?"

"You didn't have to. I could see it in your eyes. Can we talk about the battle?"

Draco killed more time by motioning to Linty for wine. Only after that was addressed did he begin to address Hermione's question.

"Ah, the battle – about even I'm afraid. We tried to trick them of course, but the bastards counter-tricked us. Can't imagine how they did that," he said and raised a brow at Hermione.

"I told you they had spies," she countered.

"Yes – I guess you did. Well, we lost a few – so did they."

"Anyone I know?"

Draco appeared to labor on the question.

"I'd prefer not to relive the details right now – if you don't mind. I still feel like shite."

"Of course Draco. I understand."

At this moment a small train of house-elves proceeded to the table with the evening's meal. After it was served, all the elves formed a small cortege to individually wish Draco well.

Hermione watched this ritual, almost chuckling, and stuffed down another yeast roll. One by one, the elves finished their greetings and went back to their duties. They ate in silence for a few minutes. Suddenly, he looked up from the meal.

"You were amazing last night."

"There was nothing amazing about it – just another warm body."

"I thought it was amazing... I think you're amazing."

Hermione chuckled.

"Okay Draco – what is it you want?"

Draco paused to brush a wayward forelock of hair out of his eyes.

"You're especially acerbic tonight."

"I didn't sleep well."

"You didn't?"

"No, I was cold and something kept poking me."

He laughed.

"Sorry about that – I would try to do better if you gave me a chance."

"Oh Draco – don't. Let's give it a rest."

"I can't. Two nights with you and I can't."

Hermione didn't respond to the query in any form.

"I know you won't give in so easily," he went on, "but I have to try, and I can't for the life of me understand why you keep turning me down."

"That's because you don't know me," she fired back.

"But damn-it-all, I'm trying."

"Yes-You-Are. I'll give you that."

"So you feel nothing then?"

"It's not about feelings."

"What is it then?"

"The war. It's about the war – and I'd like to hear how things went."

Draco sighed, and then exhaled deeply. "I can't change the war – and I didn't start it."

"You're avoiding my question."

"Well, since you won't move your things in – I might as well go ahead and tell you. You won't be happy."

Hermione froze. Inside she turned as cold as stone.

"What? What is it?"

"You told me not to kill your friends and I haven't. I've tried to end this war you know."

"Just tell me – what is it?"

"Your old friend. Once lover, I believe..."

"Are you talking about Ron?"

There was a long pause that said yes.

"Yes, that's who I'm talking about. I'm afraid he was killed."

Hermione sat frozen by the news, and stared at little cherubs nesting in the cutouts in the wall. Slowly a tear began to form in her right eye and swelled to a drop that ran down her cheek.

"I didn't do it," he pleaded. "Tried to help really, but it was too late. It was how I came to get hit by the way. Just couldn't believe it when I saw Weasley fall. Unreal really – I stared at the sight and then got hit myself. It's a wonder I wasn't killed."

Hermione dried her eyes with her serviette.

"Well... _that_ would have been devastating."

"Look, Gran... Hermione, I'm sorry. I really am."

"Are you sure he was killed?"

Draco rolled his shoulders in a shrug. "I saw him fall."

Hermione cleared her eyes and throat but kept the serviette handy.

"Oh, I'm over him. I truly am. It's just the dreams I hate to say goodbye to. Dreams I've had since I was very young. I knew they were over in the back of my mind. I always did... Ron turned out to be such an arse, but it's so hard to let go sometimes."

"I understand."

"Do you?" she spat the words contentiously.

"I think so. You were with Weasley and I was stuck with Astoria Greengrass."

"So you have a story too?"

"I guess – what's yours?"

"Those men... you asked me about?"

Reluctantly Draco nodded.

"I'm guilty. I went with all of them to get information."

"You don't have to tell me..."

"No, I do. You want to know me or not?"

Draco surrendered with a wave of the hand.

"After Ron dumped me I slept with other wizards; finally graduating to a spy for the Order. I wanted to make sure the Hermione Granger you knew in school was dead and gone. I wanted to make sure Ron would never get that girl back. I grew to hate that girl. The innocent, naive, and wide-eyed bookworm."

She threw her face in the serviette for few moments.

"Hermione, maybe we should talk about this some other time."

"No – we can talk about it now. So, I became a spy. It went well initially. Oh I was clumsy at first but my skills improved. I felt like I was doing something real this time - something meaningful, and taking risks like everyone else. The big job was here with you. I slept with you as means of killing you with the knife. Of course, you did all the work for me. I'm not proud of what I've become. I've slept with the others and I've slept with you. And the old Hermione is dead now except for a few silly dreams that belonged to a pitiful schoolgirl."

"So, I'm just an assignment then – someone on your hit list?"

"At first yes. But of my assignments... you're the only one I've enjoyed, although I tried not to," she said and pointed a playful finger.

Draco drew a deep breath.

"I'm flattered."

"You should be."

"Well, that's some story Granger, but I guess I should think on it before I make any more offers."

Hermione appeared taken back but collected her cool very quick.

"Yes, I think you should," she agreed.

"I will – and I have. I've already thought on this, and I still feel the same. I still want you Granger. As much as ever."

"You're a fool then."

"I'm sure of it. Are you saying I can have you?"

"No, I'm not saying that. You prove to me – you prove to me every day you're doing something to end the war and you can have me."

"That sounds a bit like a business deal – nothing like a relationship."

"I didn't imply it would be a relationship. Not really. Regardless of what you said earlier, I expect Astoria will return; and when she does, I'll be out of here like day old bread."

"Now _you're_ being a fool."

"Oh yeah, and why's that?"

"Because you don't know me Granger," he said with a grin. "But what if I want more? How do I get that?"

Hermione looked more than a little taken back.

"More? More of what?" she replied. "What you see here is what you get. It's all a poor girl has to give, and recent history proves it can be had rather cheaply."

"You're too self effacing."

"If you'll do what I ask... I'll give you everything but my heart. It's the only thing of value I have left. I gave that away once and swore to Merlin I'd never do it again."

Draco nodded solemnly.

"And what if that's exactly what I want?"

"Well, first of all, I'd feel sorry for you, but you'll have to end this war if you want that Draco.

.

* * *

A/N: A big thanks for the most comments ever on the last chapter. So, the deepest grats goes out to hoshiakari7, Loopygirl1, LanaLee1, Guest, mega700201, ii-V-I, Jenf97, dutch potterfan, Guest(for all 17 chapters - wow), aquac, carolyn, farinne1, and to all who read, faved, or followed.

The story is very close to part 3 now. Also, beginning a tumblr page for updates of any kind. (address in profile page) This is mainly to protect the story in case the site keeps going completely crazy like it did last week.


	19. War Council

**.**

"**All cats are gray in the dark. And besides, her actions have less to do with her, and everything to do with you."**

– **Jaye Frances, The Kure**

**.**

**The Tower Window**

**.**

**19\. War Council**

It took several days for Hermione to drum up the courage to confirm Draco's story of Ron's demise. Completely convinced that she was numb enough to bear any bad news, she fell completely apart after sending the first question via the coded Chap book.

**Norbert**: Have heard terrible news Ron perished in the battle. Is there any truth to this?

Waiting for the answer, she was crying streams of tears when the message finally appeared.

**Firenze**: Ron was hit by an unknown curse in the battle. He was knocked unconscious and carried from the grounds but survives.

When she read the wonderful news, for some strange reason, she continued to cry. She dried her eyes to ask another question.

**Norbert**: How did our side fair?

**Firenze**: Although it was a very close fight, the Order considers it a clear victory.

She shed a few more tears at this news and gently closed the book. It would be a happy day. No longer would she carry the guilt of his passing. It had been a traumatic experience but she would do her best to put the whole matter aside. It had been a risky maneuver – a costly and deceitful ruse, but very necessary if she wanted to garner the trust of the Ministry.

So... Draco had told the truth. At least as far as he knew it, and there was no reason to believe he was trying to mislead her in any way. But, still she wasn't quite ready to jump into the wizard's arms just yet. If she continued to leak information to the Order she would be deceiving the Ministry, of whom she was supposed to be a member now. This didn't bother her a bit. But what was this thing she had going on with Draco? Could she dare call it a relationship? Her head was still baffled but her heart told her it was real.

If she plunged into a relationship with Draco Malfoy would she not also be bound by trust? This cast another dimension into an already hopelessly complicated existence.

Should she take his offer seriously? The spying for the Order would have to stop if she did. She would have to be open and be honest with the man – and he would have to do the same – starting very soon. The spying would end if she could be convinced he was truly making an effort to end the war. She devised a checklist of goods and bads.

**She began with the bad:**

Although not quite a prisoner, she was quarantined in the Manor until the wars end. Pretty mild punishment, since she had tried to murder the man.

She was a witch but forbade to carry her wand.

She was forced to wear clothes of Draco's choice. Actually, they weren't so bad. Perhaps she was beginning to accept Draco's modus vivendi.

Forced to spend long days alone in the tower room. This was the worse.

**Now the good:**

To her surprise, the man had turned out to be understanding and kind.

Although living constrained, the way she did in the Manor, ought to be boring, it wasn't. Draco kept her guessing.

Besides the overly eccentric dinner arrangements, the creature comforts showed a lot of promise.

Almost embarrassing to admit... the sex was surreal. (With second thoughts she scratched that one out.)

Staring at the list for several minutes, she realized the problem was ineffable. She opened the stove and threw the list in the fire. This thing between she and Draco could never be quantified by a list of good and bad. Again she had to accept that only the heart could make this kind of decision.

Problem was, when she needed it the most, her heart wasn't feeling it. Somewhere in the ordeals of the past year it had derailed – it had checked out and never returned. It wasn't feeling bad, it wasn't feeling good – it just wasn't feeling.

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

Two nights in the tower bedroom felt like torture after the two nights in Draco's room. After sleeping naked on satin sheets in a feather bed with a mile high duvet she decided it was too indulgent for her own good. Perhaps this conclusion was just sour grapes, she couldn't be sure. All the same, it had been nice – it had been decadently nice.

But she had made a decision and it was time for dinner. Slithering into a black sheer gown, so stretchy and tight it showed every goose pimple, she felt like a sausage as she moved with tiny steps into the dining room. The getup was outrageous, but she didn't care and barely noticed these things now. Hunger pushed her on without concern for her appearance.

Surprisingly, Draco was at the table and already seated. The places had been set, and the glasses filled. All it would take now would be a small gesture from the master of the house and the dining ritual would begin.

And there it was: a small finger nod. One small elf, awaiting instruction by the kitchen door, saw the gesture and disappeared into the kitchen.

"Am I late?" she asked.

"No, you're fine," he responded kindly.

"Then you must be hungry," she said as carefully wriggled into her chair.

"Yeah, you could say that." Hermione flushed at the implication. Was he needing her physical attentions again so soon. Perhaps he had arrived first to hide his difficulties. He still had not recovered full use of his right leg and struggled with the cane, apoplectically.

Rescued by a small train of house-elves serving dinner, Hermione was able to ignore the comment. Quickly, the elves had a wonderful three-course meal laid out before them and then, just as conveniently, disappeared.

She often felt guilty at dinner, stuffing her face while Draco studied her every move. It was made worse when she paid the man less attention than she did the mashed potatoes.

"How was your day?" she said through a bite of roast beef and gravy.

Draco pulled a smirk face. "Alright for sure, but I hate this damned War council meeting. It's coming up tomorrow."

"A war council heh? And what's that?" she asked and held up her wine glass. A small elf came running to the rescue.

"It's a cabinet meeting of wizards. War planners. It used to be very serious in the early days. It's a bit of a joke now."

"So why worry about it?"

"Because I'm obliged to attend – but I prefer not to," he said and lifted the cane as the excuse. Blaise and Theodore would normally be able to fill in, but they're recruiting out of the country."

"You could still make it," she said.

"Yes, but injured like this? I fear leaving a weak impression is not good for me now. I've already sent an excuse that business has taken me out of town."

Hermione spun her wine glass and watched the mauve-red contents swirl up the sides.

"Do you think... I've been forgiven for my sins against the Ministry?"

"What do you mean?" he asked suspiciously.

"Could I go in your stead?"

Draco raised a brow and shook his head.

"Are you mental?

"Perhaps. Some folks call it cabin fever – I'd love to see the outside of this place again."

Draco laughed. "I suppose you'd want a wand too?"

Hermione reflected due concern.

"It would be appropriate."

"You mean... now let's get his right. You want me to give you a wand and just let you walk out of here," he said with a chuckle. "Hell, you'd never come back."

"What makes you so sure of that?"

"Are you serious? Are you really serious?"

Hermione put on a serious face. "For sure, and I'm serious. I'm serious and I'd like to attend the war council."

"Gra... Hermione, why the fuck would you want to do that?"

"You know I exist to end this war. I might not be able to help, but I'd like to try."

"For one thing – not all the members really want to end the war – and besides, you wouldn't be allowed to do anything but listen. I'm really not sure what they'll do when they see your smiling face again. They'd never allow you to speak."

"I don't mind listening. Anything I could do to understand the problem might help. And, you'd have to give me letters of confidence of course."

"Granger – be serious with me. Once you get out if here, you're never coming back. That wouldn't be good for me right now. The Ministry would take a dim view of that. I've had to put it in writing that you've swapped over to our cause. What do you think would happen to me if you just waltzed back to the Order."

Draco lifted his serviette and threw it on the table as if to end the conversation.

"So that's _it_ then," she said.

"I'm afraid so. Come on Granger – ask for something reasonable."

"If I can't go then I'm still a prisoner. How can I be with you and be a prisoner at the same time. Do you ever think of that?"

"I know this arrangement is complicated."

"Complicated – hell it's completely mental."

"Not really. You've made some great strides toward our side. I just don't think you're ready for this."

Hermione sat stoically for a few moments.

"But I'm ready to sleep with you. I'm ready to move my things in with you. And I know in my heart, when this war is over, Astoria will come back. And when she does come back and I'll be out on my ear – or worse."

"That's not true," he protested.

"To hell it's not. Draco, you've never told me anything that made me believe different. Do you really care for me?"

"I do," he said, wide eyed. "What else can I say to allay your fears?"

"You can tell me something that sounds like the truth. Why am I here?"

"Because I care for you – have for some time."

"Why do you care for me?" she fired back.

"Why not?" Just because you can't see your own worth doesn't mean I can't."

"That's bullshit Draco – a woman needs more – something that sounds real."

Draco paused. The ball was in his court and he knew it.

"I always knew you were strong," he began. "But it took the war to show me just how strong you really were. My mother, Astoria, all the women in my life, up to now, have been light and ethereal beauties – and where are they now? Gone. Long gone until this war is over. You're the only one that actually came to _me_."

Draco paused for a drink.

"Oh, I know it was to complete your mission. But still – it _was_ impressive. I'll give you that. I can't imagine my mother or Astoria ever taking a hand in this mess the way you did."

"So you're impressed with my strength? Forgive me Draco, but that seems hardly the kind of compliment a woman needs to win her affection. She needs a little more."

Draco smiled. "You do, do you. Well, you've got the other qualities you need Granger. You've filled out rather nicely since Hogwarts and grown up to be a beautiful woman. Oh you have the other qualities you need to hold a man."

"I'm sorry Draco, but this comes off as a bit clinical."

"What the hell else can I say? Look Granger... we're both prisoners here – you and me – caught in the same terrible war. But I can't just let you walk out of here. All the other women left and never came back."

"You have to – if you truly want me – you'll have to."

At this Draco struggled to rise with the help of the cane. He walked over to her chair and beckoned for her to rise.

Hermione tossed the serviette on the table and complied. When she did, he took her in his arms.

"So to win your affections, I must let you go?"

"Yes – you do."

"Will you promise me – you'll come back? There's more to this story I've told you tonight, but you'll have to come back to hear it."

"Draco, just like you told me, perhaps you can't see your own worth."

"That sounds like bullshit. Just tell me you're coming back."

"I'm coming back." And with that Hermione kissed the wizard hard and held on tightly until there were no more questions.

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

Much of the afternoon slipped away quicker than Draco or Hermione realized. Not having proper clothes for this event, Hermione had to remind Draco to find them. First it took longer to decide what to wear than it should have. Later they had difficulty with her size. Hermione elected to wear trousers and a jacket followed by a long coat. Draco thought the ensemble too masculine, but Hermione thought it should help put her at rest around the male wizards that made up the majority of council members.

Finally at five o'clock, Draco walked her out the front door to the very edge of the property where the protective spells and enchantments came to an end. The wand was not her own, but one that once belonged to a Death Eater who had the privilege of coming and going through the magical barrier. There wasn't enough time to make the proper enhancements to her own wand to do this.

Hand in Hand, they walked through the magical boundary unscathed. Draco held on to her hand tightly, not willing to let it go.

"You've go to let it go Draco."

"I can't."

"Look – something I should have said last night. I know the best place for me to change the war is here with you – so you needn't worry. I have every reason to come back."

"That's not very personal, but I'll hold you to your word Granger... and try not to worry," he said with a slight tremble of emotion. He kissed the witch for a long time in the cold night air.

With that, Hermione turned to face the darkness. She bowed her head slightly to concentrate on her destination for a few moments. With a zip and a pop, she disappeared into the cold night air.

Under the moonlight, Draco could make out the impression in the gravel where she had been standing. He could still smell the scented soap from her hair. The dampness of her lips was still on his.

He stared into the black night sky and wondered if he would ever see the witch in Malfoy Manor again.

:

* * *

A/N: Please accept this short chapter as it is – I know it's a cliffe but the next one is coming very soon. Chapter twenty should sum it up and be the last of part two.

Delightful comments from LanaLee1, mega700201, apriljunemay, hoshiakari7, farinne1. Thanks for those. Also, sincere grats to all who read, faved, and followed.


	20. The Envoy

**.**

"**I wondered why it was that places are so much lovelier when one is**

**alone."**

– **Daphne du Maurier, Rebecca **

**.**

**The Tower Window**

**.**

**20\. The Envoy**

After jetting through the night air weightless, Hermione could feel her feet settle down on something very firm. She opened her eyes and let them adjust for a few moments in order to see in the dim alley. It was the alley behind the Muggle government building that stood above the Ministry. She reached in her coat pocket and let the wand fill her hand, reassuringly.

Their were many entrances into the Ministry, but she would opt for the simplest and most straight forward, which happened to be the abandoned telephone booth. She was in no mood to take a chance on the toilet entrances on this cold winter night.

There was no one on the street at this hour, so she went straight away to the booth and dialed '62442'. After explaining her reason for being there, the booth began the long drop into the Atrium below. The booth settled on the atrium floor with a solid ker-thump.

Questionably, the atrium was still beautiful, but it's once majestic interior had been filled with propaganda and the vile centerpiece was still reigning oppressively.

At this hour she was surprised to find a concierge behind a desk by the lifts. The lonely attendant seemed pleasantly surprised to see anyone at this hour.

"Good evening," greeted Hermione.

"And good evening to you. How may I help?"

"I'm Hermione Granger, and here to attend the war council."

The little wizard looked her over rather curiously. Since it wasn't his job to scrutinize attendants, he shrugged his shoulders aimlessly.

"Level two Miss. In the old Wizengamot's Halls."

"Thank you." Without hesitation, she proceeded to the lift; with no one on but herself she dropped like a rock to level two.

The deserted corridors were deathly quiet and footsteps on the marble floors announced her arrival whether she wanted to or not. Finally she could make out the rumbling cacophony of twenty or more people, all exchanging conversation at the same time.

Entering the Wizengamot chambers, the crowd fell silent as they took notice of Hermione entering. One by one they would glance at her and then fall silent. Then the rest looked around until they found the interruption.

A handsome wizard she barely recognized came running her way and stopped only a few feet short of her face.

"What are you doing here?"

Hermione handed the wizard the clearance papers written by Draco. He quickly took a look at each sheet and held them to the light to verify the watermark. He handed them back and then folded his arms across his chest.

"Those only verify the legality of you being here – but my question still stands – _why_ are you here?"

"To provide any assistance I can, and to end the war – of course."

"To provide any assistance," he said, mockingly. "Why, it wasn't that long ago when the Ministry put a death sentence on your head."

"I have atoned for my crimes against the Ministry – and assisted in their struggles several times."

"Have you really?," the wizard said, shaking his head. "You ought to know Miss Granger that while our mission directive is no longer devoted to pureblood supremacy – old feelings die hard and there are many here that still hold on to the old ways. You may not feel welcome here."

"I'll do my best to cope."

The wizard exhaled sharply.

"Have a seat Miss Granger – and don't interrupt proceedings."

With that, the wizard spun around and stormed off. The rest of the group stopped staring and gradually went back to their idle chatter. Hermione looked for a place to sit in the back of the room. There were few chairs available and the men weren't exactly jumping up to offer a seat.

She spied a vacant chair beside Marcus Flint. He had come to the Manor once when she attended dinner. He might at least practice some level of civility in her presence.

"Good evening," she began. "Is this seat taken?"

She knew the seat wasn't taken, but felt it would be polite to ask anyway.

"Be my guest," he said and gestured toward the chair.

Hermione came out of the long coat and threw it over the back of the seat.

"I'm a little surprised to see you here," he began.

"I don't know why not?" she defended.

"So what's this rubbish I hear now – that you're on our side?"

"That's right, I am."

"And when did this begin? Oh, I know you've been quite friendly with Draco, but changing sides? Do you really expect anyone to believe this?"

"I don't see why not. I want the war to end – and I really don't care anymore who comes out on top."

"You don't, eh. I don't imagine your old comrades would be too happy to hear about that."

"Probably not, but there are many exceptions on both sides. For instance: some of you are ready to accept peace but many want to keep on fighting. There has to be a middle line."

"Sure – how does yours work?"

"I just believe, that the sooner we end this war, the fewer innocent will die. And right now, it looks as though the Ministry has the greatest chance of making that happen. In a few years from now, no one will remember who won or why. I'm growing tired of seeing innocent women and children die while the most corrupt seem to go on forever."

"That's quite an impressive stance Granger. You think anyone will believe it?" he said and chuckled.

"What do you think?"

"I think, you'll run back to the Order with everything you hear tonight."

Hermione shook her head. "I can't. My movements are still restricted. I was only able to leave the Manor to attend this council for Draco."

"Oh, I see. And where is the ol boy if I may ask?"

"He was called out of town on urgent business. He said to..."

A loud striking of the gavel signaled the proceedings were underway. At last a hush fell over the room. The wizard that interrogated Hermione was obviously in charge and assuming the position behind the podium.

"Good evening witches and wizards and welcome to this war council of the New Ministry. The chair is now open for questions and discussion."

A tall rangy wizard stood up immediately. "Who won the battle at Godric's Hollow – I've heard only rumors."

"If you'd have been there Hareshed, you would have known," the moderator fired back and the room broke out in laughter. The moderator raised his hand to extinguish the disturbance. No wonder Draco had said these meetings were a joke.

"All the same, a fair question. Especially for the ladies." Again, laughter erupted. Hermione looked about the room and saw only a few women. She recognized one, Adaline Snodgrass, from Hogwarts. Adaline was a couple years ahead of her but had been on speaking terms in the single year she had known her.

"It was a close battle, but a decisive victory for our side."

It was all Hermione could do to avoid laughing. Whose account was she to believe? The Chap Book told here an entirely different story.

Another man stood up. A thick and burly man wearing a stern expression.

"I was at the battle. Their numbers are not collapsing as all the reports have said."

"Yes, they have help, but so do we," instructed the handsome moderator.

"Yes, but the Durmstrangs are growing tired of fighting for us. We told them the war would be over in a few months."

"We'll have to come up with new ways to motivate them."

"That shouldn't be hard – promise them vacation homes along the Mediterranean," cracked one fellow and the crowd burst into laughter.

"Please – let's keep it to serious business – does anyone know who's helping the Order?"

"I've heard it's the Americans," said Adaline Snodgrass.

"I've heard the same thing," added the moderator. "How about you Miss Granger – you've been awfully quiet. Time to test your patriotism. Who's helping the Order?"

Hermione stood up bravely. "Adaline is right – I believe it's the Americans, but I've been away from the Order for quite a while now."

"Very good. We'll file a complaint to the American Congress of Wizardry on this matter."

A pause fell over the room and people began to look about restlessly.

"So what do we do next?" piped in a small wizard from the back of the room.

"Would anyone like to address that question," announced the moderator.

"How do we find them – that's what's next. If we can find that Damned Potter or that Weasel Weasley we can end this thing real quick."

"We can sue for peace," said one man.

"To hell with that," said another. "We need to kill em all."

With that voices erupted all over the chamber. Some men had risen from their chairs to shout across the room.

"Order! Order!," shouted the moderator and pounded the gavel. "Gentlemen – please, we must have order."

The ruckus finally subsided.

"Where are they then?" asked one man. " How can we find out where that bastard Potter calls home?"

Quickly an old wizard rose. "It's been hunted for many years. It would be a waste of time to look any further."

"We have prisoners from the Order. We can ask them," volunteered one brave witch who spoke up.

"They don't know or won't talk..." said someone else.

"Then torture them until they do," said another, and the room exploded again.

Hermione could instantly feel for the half dozen or so prisoners the Ministry had captured. Fine young men, all of them. She hoped the Ministry would never resort to torture, but such an egregious act was certainly within their power. The shame of it all was that Harry no longer stayed at Grimmauld Place. He'd tried living there after the Battle of Hogwarts, but the place was haunted with bad memories. Besides, Ginny never liked it. Now only the old house-elf Kreacher still lived there. She could save all those boys from torture and death with a few well-chosen words. Would Harry be furious if she told? It had been an Order secret for so many years, but one more sacrifice would spare those boys torture and buy her trust from the Ministry at the same time.

"It's Grimmauld Place," she heard herself say. "Twelve Grimmauld Place."

The room fell so silent you could hear a pin drop.

"We've looked there before but we didn't..."

"You didn't find it," she injected. "Because you couldn't see it – only a selected few can, but it's there."

There was another long pause.

"Very good Miss Granger – we'll check that out."

Hermione nodded and resumed her seat.

The evening continued with more rants and raves until the crowd began to grow tired of passionate threats and excruciating details of what they'd do to the Order, once they found them.

With very little constructive discussion left, the moderator finally slammed the gavel one more time to end the meeting.

The crowd was breaking up as she mingled through the last of the die-hards gathered by the door. There were no hard looks cast her way now; she even got a few smiles. Almost in the corridor, the moderator and wizard that interrogated her on the way in was calling her name.

"Miss Granger!"

"Have I broken a rule?"

"Rule – what rules; no, I just wanted say thanks for the tip. I didn't believe you were for real, but... I'm rethinking that now."

Hermione squinted. "I don't believe I know your name."

"No, I guess you don't," he said with a smile. "It's Fawley – Richard Fawley."

She nodded, and to her surprise, the wizard extended his hand.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Richard Fawley" she said, accepting the offer.

"Likewise. It's very interesting to hear from someone so familiar with the Order."

"I'm sure it is. Don't suppose too many are running to your door the way I did."

He shook his head. "No they don't."

"Well, goodnight," she said and turned to leave.

"Miss Granger!"

"Yes?"

"Do you have to leave so soon? I was wondering if you could go for something to drink? Coffee, tea, a butterbeer?"

"Uh, thanks but no – I'm still on restricted movements you see. I have to be getting back and it's late."

"Well, I hope to see you at the next council then."

"Yes, I plan to be here. So again, I'll say goodnight."

"Goodnight Miss Granger."

Hermione smiled to herself. Out of the house for one night and already she'd been invited to drinks. After being stuck in the tower room for so long, freedom was a strange feeling.

Knowing that many in the council would not be so friendly, she carefully retraced her path back out the way she came in and listened carefully for any sounds around her. With no difficulties, she made her way to and out of the call box and was standing in the street as free as a bird.

_As free as a bird._ Well not exactly, but it felt nice all the same. Was she really making progress to help end the war? It felt like it, and it felt good.

She wondered about her flat and turned to the eastern sky; at least the part she could make out between the buildings. It would be so nice to see it again. She briefly wondered what she would find there and laughed. A few tins of food in the cupboard and nothing in the fridge. It would be the same – it would have to be the same – cold dark and lonely.

She then turned back to the west to see a waning moon setting low in the sky. It would be right over Wiltshire and Malfoy Manor. Suddenly she realized her heart was not so empty and cold as before. This little bit of freedom had improved her spirits greatly.

The heavy wool trousers were beginning to itch. Already she missed the smooth caress of silk and satin. It was long past dinner, but would there be anything left?

She was struck with the thought that if she apparated back to the Manor her heart would follow the same path as the waning moon. Was that a sign?

Her freedom to choose made the choice easy. She smiled and felt the wand in her coat pocket. With a zip and a pop, she was gone in a flash.

:

* * *

A/N: Promised this one would follow shortly. :) Now we say goodbye to part II. Hoped you liked it. Part III will be different with more chances for real Dramione.

Thanks so much for the comments from hoshiakari7, coenseo, LanaLee1, and Andrea250, and all those who read, followed, or faved. :)


	21. A Move for Peace

"**You know what, your imagination works faster than your mind."**

– **Simona Panova, Nightmarish Sacrifice **

**.**

**The Tower Window**

**.**

**Part Three**

**.**

**21\. A Move for Peace**

Hermione opened her eyes expecting to see the gates of Malfoy Manor. She was a bit cold and tired and ready to be back in the warm embrace of the mansion.

But she was not back. Not exactly. As best she could figure, she was in a narrow copse of wood that ran alongside the estate. How she had missed so badly was quite puzzling; she had concentrated on the very spot until it was clear in her mind. Perhaps she'd been more tired than she first thought. Perhaps it had been the strange wand or the protective charm that surrounded the Manor – she'd never know.

The problem was, she wasn't very familiar with this section of the grounds. Actually, since she'd never been allowed out, she wasn't familiar with any of the grounds around the Manor. But there she was, in the middle of the woods in the middle of the night and without the foggiest idea which way to go.

She could try and apparate again – but without a clue as to what caused her to veer off the first time – another attempt might be worse. If she could only see lights from the Manor, but she couldn't. Besides the bright moon overhead, everything in the woods was pitch black. Casting light from her wand in the middle of this brush wouldn't help a bit.

She remembered Draco's warning that the grounds were not always safe. _This is seriously not good Hermione – seriously not good._ She also remembered Draco telling her, before she left, to shoot red sparks with the wand if anything went wrong. The house-elves that managed the grounds would see them.

Hermione pointed her wand toward the starlit sky.

"Periculum!" A huge red jet erupted toward the heavens and exploded like fireworks in the night sky. She held the charm for some time to make sure the elves would see it.

Releasing the charm, the night sky went back to black, the woods creepy quiet, and the evening so far uneventful. She began to wonder if she was within miles of the Manor. If not, she could always apparate back to her flat in London. But that was a thing she feared to do; for if she did she worried the way back to Malfoy Manor might somehow be closed forever.

Following her nose and moving slowly through the dark woods, leaves crunched under foot like cornflakes. She paused and listened for any movements around her. There were none, but she could have sworn she had heard footsteps intermingled with her own.

Finally a sound could be heard to answer her call! It was the ringing of a bell. It was a signal that the Manor was alive and awake at this hour and aware of her needs. The elves had answered with the only signal they had. And they kept ringing. The heavy clangour rolled and echoed through the woods, and over the hills, but was loudest in the direction she had instinctively guessed.

Now, in only a few minutes time, she was at the end of the wood and on the edge of a large grass meadow. Windows at the top of the Manor were reflecting light from the moon setting in the west behind her. Behind her? With the west behind her that could only mean she had overshot her target.

Greatly relieved, she was about to step out of the woods and enter the meadow when the hairs on the back of her neck began to rise. Before leaving the safety of the woods, she paused at the edge and looked left and then right. It was to the her right, the source of the sound, the footsteps intermingled with and moving with her own.

Two Werewolves were standing off the edge of the wood and waiting for Hermione to enter the open field. After watching Remus Lupin transform in her third year, the sight and smell of werewolves were easy to recognize.

Exploding to twice their size, one wore the remains of a shirt collar and the tattered shreds of trousers, held on by a leather belt. Demonic eyes shone bright with a glint of moonlight. Incisors, long and bright white, snapped in anticipation of an attack, which was sure to follow.

The largest of the two, a big brown male, broke away from the other and moved in a large arc in the field to get on Hermione's opposite side. From here they would creep in a little closer before beginning the attack from opposite sides.

A single witch with a strange wand would be hard pressed to defend herself by such an attack from two large werewolves at such a close distance. With only a moment to evaluate, she would have to attack the more aggressive wolf immediately or apparate away to safety. But the strange wand was not her own – it just didn't feel right. Maybe the wolf reminded her of the long lost Remus Lupin – but whatever the cause, she would be ill advised to hesitate further. Hermione finally pointed the wand at the big male but still could not muster the attack.

At that very moment the audible signature of apparition could be heard with a swish and a pop. Standing in the field to enter the fray was a tall wizard in a dark greatcoat. The longer than Hogwarts blonde hair shone brightly in the moonlight.

The wizard was infuriated with the scene he witnessed in front of him. A witch, of whom he was most fond of, was being harassed and about to be attacked by two beasts that were most unwelcome on the grounds. The sight caused his normally calm blood to boil.

The two werewolves turned to growl at the intruder who would deprive them of an easy meal. This was all it took to make the wizard react. A pissed off and fiery hot curse erupted from the wand of the wizard and struck the bigger, more aggressive of the two animals. As a ball of smoke went up from burnt hair and charred flesh, and the werewolf howled in pain.

The caster now wheeled to the other werewolf and scorched this beast the same as the first. More animal screams cut through the night air as the wizard spun back to the right. If the beast was not gone from the field when his wand made the turn then the killing curse would be next.

Fortunately, for the animal's sake, he had scurried back into the woods. The second followed a similar path in the blink of an eye.

Draco stood there for just a moment to let the blood cool.

"Are you all right?" he called out.

"Yes," replied Hermione and made her way into the wizard's arms.

They hugged for a time. Silhouetted in the moonlit field the two were as one.

"My God Hermione – why didn't you defend yourself? You could have been..."

Hermione shook her head. "I don't know – I just don't know." She looked down at the wand that was not her own as if to blame the strange implement, and Draco took notice.

"You'll never again leave the house without your own wand. I promise."

"Let's get inside Draco – I'm cold now."

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

When Daisy rapped on Hermione's door the following morning the witch was still fast asleep. Dreams of werewolves and being lost in the woods had interrupted her sleep several times.

Half awake and still half asleep she struggled down the spiral staircase to the showers. Only after a warm shower followed by another cold one was Hermione truly awake.

Rather than the customary jeans and cardigan, Hermione was happy to find a short frock among her wardrobe choices. Slipping into the frock and a pair of glove leather flats, she was more comfortable than she had a right to be. She agreed to meet Draco for breakfast. Putting off discussions of the night before, Draco had hugged her one more time before the two ran off to separate beds.

The recurring vision of Draco entering the field on the night before had turned out to be very endearing. In spite of his show of strength, he was still relying on the cane for support. Hopefully, in a week or so he would be recovered enough to get by without it. But before that time, he would require rest, she reminded herself. But the way she was warming up to the wizard, she hoped it would be soon.

Following Alfred into the dining room, Draco was already seated with a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ in hand. He lowered the paper and watched her enter the room and take a chair. The elves already had the table laid out for breakfast. One elf had Hermione's cup full of coffee by the time she was seated.

"Good Morning."

"Morning," she greeted.

"You're looking good."

"Thank you," she said discreetly as if to draw no further attention to herself. She couldn't help but smile. "So do you."

Hermione helped herself to a pile of buttered toast. She hadn't had a breakfast like this since she arrived at the Manor.

"Did you sleep well?"

"No."

"Neither did I," he fired back. "Perhaps we wasted the evening by not sharing it."

She was slightly taken back by the remark.

"You need your rest to get over the effects of the curse."

Draco studied her remark. It was too well rehearsed and already thought out. It showed she had given the matter some thought.

"Hermione, how on earth did you wind up in the trees last night?"

She threw her hands up.

"I don't know – I really don't. Maybe it was the strange wand or the barrier around this place."

"And the wolves – they followed you out of the wood?"

"I think they heard me in the woods. They were standing on the edge of the field when I got out. Was I off the grounds of the estate?"

"No," he said and shook his head. "But close. The property line is just beyond those woods."

"And the barrier? Does it extend that far?"

"Yes."

"Well then – how the hell did they get there?"

Draco looked bothered. "I don't know," he said and picked up the paper. "But I'll have hunters go out today. If they're still there they'll find them. I won't tolerate werewolves on the grounds."

"And the moon... it was no longer quite full."

Again, Draco just shrugged. "I'm not sure it matters as much as some believe. After all it's been cloudy for some time."

"Has this ever happened before?" she asked, and Draco only shook his head.

Slightly offed by his lack of response, Hermione couldn't help but think Draco might be holding something back. Perhaps more would shake out later – but for now she wouldn't press the issue.

"Well, the council meeting was a little strange but not entirely unproductive," she said.

"I hoped it would be worth your time..." Draco waved off the topic. "To be honest, I'm just glad to have you back. I never found the meetings very constructive – some want peace – some, they want to 'kill em all'," he said with animated anger. "I'm more than a little tired of it."

"What do _you_ want Draco?"

"I want you."

"Concerning the war."

"I don't want the war. I can tell you that. But until we can end the Order or end their desire to see us all locked up in Azkaban we'll keep on fighting till they stop."

Hermione knew that this was partially true.

"That's fair Draco, but they have no place in the wizard's council or the Wizengamot if it's ever reinstated. They'll never settle for that and you know it."

"Maybe not, but my side will never agree to let them back in – at least not the warmongering side. You've been to a council now and you've seen their fanaticism."

Hermione nodded solemnly. It was difficult to argue the point.

"Well, what do we do then?"

"WE?" he asked and laughed. "I'll let you do that. Your head is prettier than mine – maybe they'll spare it."

"I'm serious."

"I'll take time Granger. Let me think about it."

"So we just sit here?"

"Not entirely," he said in a playful manner. He picked the serviette out of his lap and tossed it on the table. "I'm tired of this cane. But I won't get away from it sitting at a desk and reading war reports."

"So what are you suggesting?"

"Exercise – we'll go for walks about the grounds."

"With werewolves about?"

"YES, with werewolves about. We'll look for any sign of them. You'll have your own wand Granger, and you'll never hesitate again."

"Why not leave them be. They'll probably never return. And my hesitation had little to do with the wand."

"I understand your love for animal life, but I'm afraid I must insist. We can't have werewolves on the estate."

"Hunting them could be dangerous."

"It shouldn't be – but I was thinking – we won't be just looking for werewolves."

"Oh, we won't" she replied with playful amusement.

"No. You may not know it but the Christmas season is upon us – or nearly that is."

Hermione looked stunned.

"No, I didn't. Lost all track of time, I'm afraid."

"That's understandable, but we used to dress the place up a bit for the holidays."

Hermione smiled and then broke into laughter.

"What's so funny?"

Quickly the laughter subsided.

"Nothing. I mean, the thought of it just struck me as a bit odd."

Draco looked perturbed.

"I suppose so – if you think of the place as an operations center for the war. Which it once was, of course – with Voldemort and his lot of henchmen. But now... I rather like to think of the place as a home." Draco looked about the room to demonstrate his intentions.

Hermione was struck now with a tinge of shame.

"I think that's a perfect idea Draco – you'll be looking for a tree then?"

"For sure, a tree, mistletoe, and all that," he said,

"Ohhh-kay. So when do we go?"

"Well," he said, looking over the frock. "You can't go in that. We'll have to find you a proper kit."

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

And Draco did find her a kit. The heavy wool trousers, jacket , and long coat she wore to the council meeting would also double for this purpose as well. It turned out that adequate footwear was difficult to find. Something heavy enough would take time to wear-in. It turned that the ubiquitous and general purpose 'Wellies', when worn with several pairs of socks did the trick. But the the most welcome addition to the ensemble was her own wand. When she gripped the handle she could feel the energy resonate in her arm. With the wand in hand she was a new witch.

So with Draco hobbling with the help of a cane, and Hermione slogging along with over-sized wellies, they made their way over the grounds. The estate boundaries were far too apart to explore in one day. Hermione quickly decided the walking did them both good and they should make it a regular habit.

Exploring the copse of woods where Hermione first heard the werewolves, they found no evidence of the creatures. It was at the far end of the property where a small creek cut through the trees that deep imprints of werewolf tracks were visible in the muddy banks. They stopped there for a well deserved rest.

"There's an old story about this part of the wood," Draco began.

"Yeah, what's that?"

"Walking along this creek one day, Septimus Malfoy witnessed an argument between one of the Rutherfords and a young man who owned a neighboring estate. It turned out that Rutherford was attempting to bully the other man, whose name is now lost, to give him access to this creek for his grazing stock. It was well within the rights of the young man to refuse, but Rutherford continued until a fight broke out."

"This sounds bad for what's his name."

"Yes it was. Rutherford, being no slouch with the blade, cut the younger fellow across the calf, and left him to bleed to death before he could get home. Septimus had always liked this young man and his family, and it chewed on him for a long time for what happened that day. Well, as you might imagine, Septimus stumbled upon the man one day watering his stock. Septimus was, to the man's eye unarmed, and a when Septimus called him a bullying coward the man attacked. It was the man's last act of violence. Septimus turned Rutherford into a pig and delivered him to the family of the man he had killed."

"What happened then?"

Draco grinned from ear to ear. "Well, there were a couple of stories – but one involved a large cookout."

"Ewww, that's terrible. But Draco..."

"Yeah?"

"Don't move – don't move a muscle."

Draco cautiously complied, but rolled his eyes in every direction as Hermione crept closer.

Just inches away, she whispered, "Mistletoe," and kissed the wizard.

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

The walks continued every day. Draco continued to regale Hermione with stories connected to every part of the grounds. After a week of this, Draco was more carrying his cane than leaning on it. Hermione could feel the shape and tone returning to her legs and arse that she had worked so hard to build. And there was the personal side: Of all the things Draco had said or done up to this point, none made him quite as appealing as their walks together.

Finally they found a tree on their third day out. Together, they laboriously drug it back to the house from a remote corner of the estate. The tree, adorned with candles, combined with boughs and wreaths of Holly and Mistletoe, transformed the rather austere interior of the Manor into something more seasonably festive.

It was over dinner that Draco made an announcement that took her, at first, a bit odd.

"I think we should host some Holiday do's at the Manor. We could invite the hard-liners."

Hermione was a little take back; first the holiday decorations, now the parties.

"A Christmas do? For the hard-liners?"

"Not just them of course, but you said you wanted to end the war. If we could get the troglodytes into a different environment. You know, something more civil than the war council, then we might be able to reach them."

Hermione pursed her lips at the idea.

"That sounds reasonable. But what about the regulars, Pansy and her new man, Gregory, Flint, Nott, and the rest?"

Draco smiled at her omission of Blaise. Her hatred of him was still obvious.

"Oh, of course – they'll be the first we invite."

She smiled at his use of 'we'.

"So who are these Hard-liners who abhor peace?"

"They come in different flavors actually. One is your new friend Fawley; he's a moderate actually. Others will be more difficult: Selwyn, Macmillan, Yaxley, Rowle, and Rosier – those are your true despots. They'd rather fight than fuck."

"Delightful."

"If we can turn them, their respective family and friends will likely go along as well. Some will never sway," he said and sighed. "Yaxley, Rowle; those two will never turn. Still... there's ways of dealing with their lot," he added with a nasty grin.

"You keep saying 'we'. What's my part in this?"

"You want peace – so you want a part in this, right?"

"I suppose – yes. I certainly want peace."

Draco nodded deeply.

"Well then, you'll have your chance to be persuasive. So you may as well be planning on how you intend to pitch your story."

"This is not another Durmstrang is it?"

"Of course not. You'll be by my side. I wouldn't trust that lot around you otherwise."

"And I'll be barely-dressed in a scanty gown?"

Draco pulled a face and looked her over sideways with the affection of a Cocker Spaniel.

"But you've learned to do barely-dressed so well."

Hermione leaned away from the table. She swirled the wine glass until the mauve-red mixture began to creep up the sides.

"I really don't mind being nearly naked when it's just the two of us. Actually, I'm ashamed to say it feels rather good. But in a crowd? You'll have to allow me something moderate."

"That won't be a problem. Now that I don't have to worry about you running off, and it wouldn't be seen as a crime by the Ministry, we could go looking together."

"Well, that's very kind of you Draco, but I'd rather not be spotted by the Order right now. At some point, I may be the one to negotiate the peace. I mean, how would it look if..."

"I understand. Then we'll keep it on the down-low, and we could even go to Paris?"

She was guessing it wouldn't be long now before he'd ask her again to move her things in. 'Her things'? How ridiculous a phase. She had no things – not really. What his offer amounted to was sharing a bed together every night.

They had shared everything except that. Hermione had refused and held steadfast on this. Up to now at least. Because, she couldn't be convinced he really cared, she balked on the moving-in bit. And if he did truly care, she couldn't for the life of her understand why. But the long walks were breaking her down and her ability to resist the snowy haired wizard.

The excuses she had given were almost running out. Draco was, after all, almost fully recovered. He still carried the cane, but it was mostly a showpiece now, and he walked without a limp. His health was almost back to normal so he was fair game.

Quickly doing the math, it had been several weeks since they had connected. She was sure there were horns beginning on the top of her head. That would have to be rectified, and very soon now. She had a feeling this time would be different; this time when she followed Draco to his lavish bedroom, she'd bring the scant carpet bag along with her.

After a long sip, she replaced the glass back on the table.

"So, how long has it been since the last party at Malfoy Manor?" she asked, inquisitively.

"The last party? Oh, well before my lifetime; I'd say about a hundred years!"

.

* * *

A/N: Well, here we are in part three. Hope you enjoy. You know, I have to admit I thought the writing would get easier – it hasn't. :)

Struggled over a paragraph that graphically describes the werewolves and their constant state of sexual arousal during the moon cycle. Finally elected not to put it in, but might include on the tumblr page – who knows.

As usual, a big thanks goes out to mega700201, LanaLee1, hoshiakari7, and Andrea250 for their comments and support. Happy to see the hits on this story growing, so a very big thanks goes out to all those who read, followed, or faved.


	22. Holiday Do

**.**

"**Happiness in life is not a given, it must be seized."**

– **Kate Morton, The Distant Hours **

**.**

**The Tower Window**

**.**

**22\. Holiday Do**

Shortly after Draco's announcement to host a party they found the event towering over them like an unruly guest. The house-elves had done most of the work, but all were busy decorating the Manor with the items Hermione and Draco acquired along their walks. Mistletoe, Holly wreaths, ribbons and bows, were hung in such a way to add life to the otherwise storied and drab interior of Malfoy Manor.

No other evidence of the Werewolves was ever discovered. Days after the last full moon they would have certainly resumed human form, but no vagrants or trespassers of any kind were ever found. Yet unexplainably, Draco appeared edgy on their walks together as if something of their existence remained that Hermione could not detect. He never appeared to completely relax when they ventured far from the Manor.

The invitation list was thrown together as quickly as possible; and while Hermione was given the opportunity to look it over, she relied completely on Draco's judgment in this matter. The 'hard-liners' he mentioned were names known to the entire wizarding community, but of their personality and true nature, Hermione knew very little.

The cane, who had been Draco's unwelcome companion for several weeks now, was resting in an upstairs cupboard. With only the slightest trace of a limp, he was nearly back to normal. Vanity did have its price however, because without it's ability to occupy, he hardly knew what to do with his hands now. Thoughts of combining his cane with a wand, in a fashion similar to what Lucius carried, were quickly abandoned. He cared little for associations to his father and rarely spoke of the man. Only his snowy blonde hair, which he wore longer than Hogwarts, but shorter than Lucius', caused him to bear any resemblance to his father.

Hermione was sure Draco would make a fine impression, it was what she would wear that worried her. His tastes in clothing and hers didn't exactly coincide. Never accompanying Draco to the dressmaker's salon, Hermione bit her lip and grabbed both wardrobe doors and flung them open.

She and Daisy stood there gawking. Daisy's huge glassy eyes were glued to the scene with as much anticipation as her own. A satiny wine colored one, a shiny green one, a pearlescent white, and a red fiery one that sparkled in the morning light.

"They is beautiful Miss."

"Well Daisy – lets see."

Mostly out of curiosity, Hermione grabbed for the red fiery one. It was rather heavy and shimmered coming off the hook. It was made of sparkling iridescent stones, blood red in color. Each stone was beaded and woven into a swirling pattern. To wear it, she imagined it would be like standing naked behind a beaded curtain. Beautiful, but simply too outrageous to wear among a house full of guests. She was about to place it back on the hook with a flesh colored liner fell out.

Daisy quickly retrieved the liner.

"What's this Miss Hermione?" asked the bewildered elf.

Hermione examined the wayward liner. It was opaque and skin colored to a hue that matched her own. It had a tiny zip fastener that had come loose. On further inspection there was top and bottom section. The upper was a small modesty panel to cover the breasts. The bottom was an inner skirt to cover the arse and crutch.

"It's a modesty liner Daisy. This one's for the front," she said and illustrated by putting her hand on her chest.

Daisy screwed her face, still unsure as to the function of the liner.

"It's so your privates won't show Daisy," she explained.

"Oh – Daisy understands now. But Mister Draco – he would like it better without the liner."

Hermione suddenly erupted in laughter.

"I'm sure he would. And maybe some night when it's just the two of us – and I think the time is right, I may wear it that way," she said with a wink and a smile. "But with a houseful of guests I'd need the liner."

"Yeah, I sees what you mean Miss."

"Do you like it Daisy – do you think that's the one?"

The smile on Daisy's face said it all.

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

It was along six when the first guests began to trickle in. Of the hard-liners Fawley, Selwyn, and Macmillan were the first to arrive with Rosier quickly behind them. Hermione guessed Fawley was merely being polite with no desire to be late. The others probably arrived on time so as to facilitate an early departure.

A small army of house-elves took hats and coats in the foyer. Even the elves were dressed in dinner jackets over their pillow cases. Rarely did the elves get to do this and all were tickled beyond words.

With encouragement from Daisy, Hermione pulled the bejeweled red gown from the rack. Just looking at it carefully told Hermione it was too big. This was a little strange since all of Malfoy's dresses up to this point had been a perfect fit. She stepped inside the gown and let Daisy close the zip fastener by standing on a chair. The stones brushed against her skin like it was raining cold diamonds. Trying it on only confirmed her suspicions; it was too big.

Then there was the sound of a million tinkling little bells and the gown began to shrink. It had been enhanced with some charm to fit the wearer. It shrank until it fit Hermione like a glove and with a perfection that no seamstress could ever manage. She and daisy agreed it was a keeper. Slithering into a matching pair of heeled sandals, she wore just enough make-up and lipstick to get by but no more. Nail varnish for fingers and toes turned out to be difficult to find in a hue that went with the gown. Hattie saved the day with a small bottle she found somewhere. Hermione guessed, but didn't ask her how she had come by it. Unclipped, Hermione let the bushy hair fly naturally.

Satisfied with the look, and with the heels in her hand, she negotiated the tricky staircase with Daisy in tow. Together they met Alfred in the corridor to the Great room. Just past the foyer, and standing by the large tree they had found, the master of the house stood patiently waiting.

Draco grinned devilishly as Hermione neared. He placed his hand on her waist and gave her a little greeting kiss. The feel of his touch was that of tiny stones being pressed into flesh. He held the kiss a moment longer than she expected. She could feel a touch of electricity before he pulled away.

"I knew you'd look good in that."

"Did you?"

Draco put his lips to her ear and whispered, "I wonder: if it looks as good coming off and it did going on?"

"We have company," she announced and stifled a laugh.

"Fawley – glad you could make it old man," said Draco.

"Wouldn't have missed it Malfoy", he said and taking in the splendor of the Manor.

"Fawley, I'd like you to meet..."

"Hermione Granger," he injected. "We met at the council."

"Yes, we did," Hermione said, quickly validated the claim.

"Well, it looks like your restrictions here in the Manor haven't done you any harm," he mocked and took a long look at the dress.

"She's been on her best behavior," Draco quickly added.

"And what about you Draco?" quipped Fawley. "How are you able to behave yourself?"

Draco ignored the repartee.

"I'll need your help tonight."

"With what old man – looks like you're set up pretty well."

"You know what. I'll need help with the hard-liners."

"Oh, I see. So that's why we're here. Kind of figured as much."

"Shit - here's Selwyn and Rosier now," exclaimed Draco with a clear view of the foyer. "Would you help me detour this lot into the smoking room?"

Fawley took another look at Hermione and then turned toward the foyer.

"Sure."

"Can you take care of it for a while?" Draco pleaded.

Hermione rolled her eyes. It wasn't likely she'd know too many of these people.

"I'll do my best," she replied sarcastically.

Draco grinned, grabbed Fawley by the arm and disappeared.

Hermione greeted a few guests she'd never seen before. Some looked puzzled; some looked lost.

"Are we in the right house," remarked one smart-ass she didn't recognize.

"Draco will be back shortly," she apologized. Tempted to run and hide, Hermione was ready to panic when she spotted Pansy exchanging her coat for a fire-whiskey martini. She wasn't hard to spot in a deep-V black evening gown with thigh high splits up both sides. It looked like something Draco would have picked out. Hermione waved to get the witches attention.

Pansy grinned from ear to ear and came to the rescue as fast as the drink would allow. Vincent Vulchanova was conspicuously absent from her side.

"You simply must help me," implored Hermione. "I don't know a soul."

Pansy laughed. "Yes, you look a bit like a fish out of water. You should have a drink."

"I'll wait til later. I've got to sort these guests right now."

"Sort heh? So what's going on here?" she asked curiously.

"The hard-liners, you know the ones."

Pansy still looked puzzled. Sometimes she was as quick as any, other times dull. Hermione leaned into her ear and whispered.

"Oooh, I see. I know just the ones. Oh, and by the way: your gown, it's absolutely radiant – I love it."

"Thanks," returned Hermione. "You're not doing so bad yourself."

Together they met all newcomers and routed the 'normal' guests to the Great room for refreshments. All those bent on war and self-destruction went to Draco.

Pulling up the rear and quite fashionably late was Lestrange. Hermione barely recognized the face from the Daily Prophet, and even at that Pansy had to point him out. The Lestrange family was arguably the oldest and most 'pure' of all the purebloods. He greeted Pansy normally but stopped short with Hermione.

"Good evening," said Hermione.

"You must be Granger – Hermione Granger. I didn't expect you here."

"Who did you expect?" she asked.

"I mean here at the door. I thought they had you locked away somewhere," said Lestrange and the curled the corner of his mouth into a grin.

Hermione had no intention of letting the man get the better of her.

"Well then, you don't know everything – do you."

Lestrange stiffened at the cutting remark.

"Here, let me get you some refreshments," injected Pansy, and led Lestrange away from Hermione and into the sitting room with the rest of the Troglodytes. She bounced back a few guests later.

"Don't pay any attention to him – he's an arsehole – with a capitol A." she said and Hermione laughed.

"So, how's it going in there?"

Pansy pulled a face. "Civil – at least for the moment."

Leaving the elves to watch the door, Hermione and Pansy drifted into the great room to mingle.

"Oh, I heard you attended the council?"

"Yes, I did. Somebody has to end this war."

"I'm surprised Draco let you out of the house."

"It worked out well."

"I bet it did. You two shacking up yet?"

Hermione was offed by the bluntness of the inquiry.

"No, where's Vincent by the way?"

"He left for Durmstrang – or somewhere around there. The Durmstrangs – they're tired of fighting, you know."

"Yes, I've heard this."

"And the Order, they have help from abroad now – those barstards – oh, I'm sorry, that's your side I'm talking about."

"They're not my side."

"Oh, yes. That's what you're saying now. You're a complete enigma Granger."

"Really, why so?"

"I mean it's not really clear what side your on or why."

"I'm on the side that brings an end to this war. That shouldn't be so hard to figure out Pansy."

"Oh – okay, and hence the meeting."

"...and hence the meeting..."

"You're both a pair angels."

Surprised, heads shot up to see Draco. He gave a little peck on cheek to Hermione.

"I hate to do this, but I need to borrow Pansy."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Sure, why not."

"I'm sorry, but it's getting close to violence. Pansy, do you think you can turn on that slutty charm you have and calm them?" he asked while catching an eyeful of Pansy's daring decolletage.

"It's my specialty," she said while batting her eyes at Draco.

"Let's do it then."

And with that, Hermione watched Draco escort the smiling Pansy into the sitting room and close the door.

Hermione bowed her head as she watched her evening disappear. How could she have been so stupid, she thought. She should never have given Pansy an answer to where she stood with Draco. She could still see the sheer happiness in Pansy's face as she escorted her man away.

'Her man'. Is that what Draco was? How could he be? They'd never made anything _official_. She looked around the room to find everyone happily entertained and not paying a damned bit of attention to her.

There was a small house-elf standing close by with a slightly puzzled face. His name was _Ruddy_.

"Ruddy, can you find Alfred for me. I'm ready to go."

Taciturn as always, Alfred led Hermione back to the northeast wing and far away from the gaiety of the party. The smells of evergreen and Holly boughs were replaced with damp stones growing mold, hundreds of years in the making.

"Daisy will be along shortly," were his only words, and with that he left Hermione to her thoughts. Even Daisy was late, giving Hermione's mood time to sour even further.

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

Hermione lay awake in bed until the wee hours. She had never exactly tried to evaluate where she and Draco were, in terms of a relationship. And her feeling for the man, for some reason, were hidden deep inside her. But when she saw Pansy put her arm through his and waltz away she began to feel them – a little at first and then a torrent later. Perhaps it was her persistent feelings of inadequacy, but now she feared that she had screwed up and the wizard might be lost to her. He had tried, but she had thought of nothing but the war and rebuffed his efforts. Bad thoughts led to bad dreams and she tossed and turned throughout the night.

Falling into a deep sleep as morning light entered the window, there was a loud knock on the door. She heard the knock, but thought it might be a part of a dream. While not really asleep, she was not cognizant of who it was approaching her although her eyes had widened to slits. She still didn't know what was going on when the tall figure sat on the bed and pressed lips to hers. Wet and warm, tongues played and she woke up with eyes wide awake.

"Draco? What the hell?"

"Wake up sleepy head."

She looked up at him, bushy hair splashed across the pillow, and then shook the sleep out of her head.

"I'm awake."

"Really?"

She nodded.

"I'm sorry about last night. I'd hoped you'd be there when we finished."

"Did you?"

"Of course I did. We made some progress I think. I thought you'd want to hear about it."

Hermione struggled to sit up. Draco tried to help but she resisted.

"Hey, I know it was difficult but I'm sure Pansy was able to straighten things out."

Draco did his best impersonation of being insulted.

"Look," he said and grabbed her hand. "Once they get to know you – and trust you – you'll do every bit as well as Pansy, but I just felt like..."

"I saw the way she was looking at you."

"She looks at all the gents that way."

"...and I saw the way you looked at her."

Draco swayed his head to and fro. "eh, the dress looked good on her – but yours was better."

"Well, maybe, but she got the guy."

"She didn't get anything – I assure you."

"Well, that's the way it felt – and it felt like shit."

"I'm sorry then. I shouldn't have done that, but I can assure you that whatever there was between me and Pansy, it was over a long time ago. Pansy may not always feel the same but it's long over nonetheless."

Hermione looked at Draco as if there was still something she needed, some bit of evidence, some bit of proof.

"Hug me then."

And he did – for the longest time, and he rubbed and felt her back through the thin nightshirt. He ran his hands through the thick bushy hair. He gently cupped her head and kissed her before pulling away.

Hermione looked about the tower room as if seeing it in a different light.

"Well, the accommodations have been lovely," she said, "but if the offer still stands I think I will move my things in with you."

"For sure. We'll get that done today."

"You _will_ be careful with the furniture?" she said and they both laughed.

"Tonight – we'll have an evening to ourselves," he began. "Just you and me, and no company. You think you can deal with that?"

"Oh, yeah. I'll manage."

:

* * *

A/N: Much thanks for the comments from ElizaLane, hoshiakari7, mega700201, and farinne. There were a few guest reviews that I had to respond to in the form of another guest review – sorry about the clutter.

We're two chapters into part III and I'm looking forward to – hoping for – if Draco and Hermione will behave themselves – some delicious Dramione.

A huge thanks to all that read, followed, or faved.


	23. Lady of the House

****A/N:**** Just a reminder. Before plunging into this chapter, please review the **Contents** and **Ratings** sections at the top of chapter 1.

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**.**

"**I wanted to learn more of love- that is built not on the shifting sands of violent passion but on the steady rock of deep and abiding affection."  
― Victoria Holt, _The Shadow of the Lynx_ **

**.**

**The Tower Window**

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**23\. Lady of the House**

_So he wanted to do the night over._ Going back to the fiery red dress would be easy enough. Except this time she'd wear the dress as it was designed to be worn – without the modesty panels. Hopefully there would be no surprise guests. But tonight would be a celebration, and if someone wandered into their celebration, then they deserved what they got.

Today, Daisy was more than happy to let Hermione use the shower for as long as she liked. It would be a bit premature to think of herself as the Lady of the house; technically that title was reserved for the wife, but she was certainly now the reigning female, and Daisy could let her do as she liked.

After basking under the hot water until her fingers pruned, Hermione did a final scrub-down with thick thirsty towels in front of the huge vanity. She turned to examine her small layout of makeup on the far end of the long mirror. Carefully, she applied a thin base of makeup and then touched up her nails before smearing on a light coat of lipstick.

She slipped into the matching shoes and clipped her hair before studying the results in the mirror. Not too bad, she thought – would Draco feel the same way? She stepped into the dress and pulled the zip closure. Immediately the charm began it's magic and the gown shrunk to a perfect fit. Running her hands down her sides to smooth the gown, she took one more double take in the mirror. Draco may not have been aware of the removable panels. The dress would go over as a tremendous success or a horrendous failure. Turning sideways, her profile showed bits of her protruding through the wider gaps of shimmering lattice. The gown was truly wicked.

Daisy, waiting in the long corridor, was wearing a long elf face with tears welling in the huge glassy eyes.

"Daisy will miss you, Miss Hermione," the Elf mewled, and blew her node on the pillowcase she wore.

"Oh, Daisy – no. I'll be back. It's not like I'm not coming back."

"You promise?"

"I do – and as a matter of fact I could ask Mister Draco if you could work on our side. Would you like that?"

"Oh yes Miss. Daisy would like that very much."

"Well, dry your eyes then and I'll meet up with Mister Draco."

"Yes Miss."

On this night Hermione took Daisy's hand and walked side by side to meet up with Alfred. Before they parted Daisy made Hermione promise again to visit her soon.

With a parting wave, Hermione followed Alfred into the corridor to the dining room. Standing in the door was Draco in a shiny tux.

He stood there, Gawking unashamedly at her in the gown.

"That's lovely," he said and gave her a peck on the cheek.

"I feel naked."

He looked her over again, quickly. "You _look_ naked."

"Shall I put on something else?"

Draco whispered something in her ear as Alfred walked away.

"So you do like it," she said. "What's for dinner?"

Draco unlatched the the dining room door and held it open, his eyes still glued to Hermione.

"Not sure really, but I hope you're hungry. They've been working on it all day."

Hermione smiled. "You look good by the way. You should to wear the tux more often."

"You can't be serious – you like this thing?"

Draco pulled a chair for Hermione but took one last look at the gown before half of it disappeared under the table. A suited train of house-elves began the evening meal with champagne and Hermione's favorite yeast rolls.

"We cut our walk too short today," began Hermione.

Draco pulled a face. "Yes, unfortunately I had other business in town," he replied.

Hermione's curiosity was peaked but she didn't ask. "We can make up for it tomorrow."

Draco thought for a moment and then sneered at this.

"Walking – I'm doing it all for you, you know."

Hermione rolled her eyes with a reply on her lips when there was a loud pop and the champagne cork flew over the table between them. The head elf first poured Hermione a glass and then Draco. Draco raised his glass in the air.

"To us," he toasted.

"To us," echoed Hermione as she raised her glass in return.

"Your things – did you have any trouble?"

"Are you serious? It was just a bag and a couple of books – and a few clothes I was rather fond of."

"You'll acquire more things. You needn't worry about that," he reassured.

"It was the war," she said, reflecting. "It cleaned us out. Most of the Order have nothing now."

"Well, then how on earth do they manage to keep fighting?"

Hermione looked at the wizard as if the answer was as plain as the nose on his face.

"Because the Ministry won't quit – I suppose I should ask you how your meeting went but..."

"No, you're right. It's not the time for it, is it? But it went rather well if I may add – better than I thought. We'll have to discuss our next step, but we'll do that another night."

Glad to get off the subject, Hermione turned to see the elves bringing out dinner. Pheasant, fresh Salmon, and carved rib roast with all the trimmings were carried to the long table. Normally as hungry as a wild animal, she was feeling a bit anxious this night with butterflies taking the place of hunger.

Before coming to Malfoy Manor, Hermione experimented with a vegan diet, but that seemed like another life in a time long ago. Still not completely comfortable with a carnivorous intake, she took mostly Salmon, with just a few bites of Pheasant and Beef to be polite.

With a few stalks of Asparagus and a yeast roll, she'd had enough.

Draco noticed her lack of appetite. "You're picking at your food."

"Well now that you feed me through the day," she argued, and Draco laughed.

"We'll give it to the elves. They'll enjoy a feast in our honor."

"Sounds like a wonderful idea."

They enjoyed one more glass of wine sprinkled with aimless conversation. Both of them pretended not to know what was next until they got tired of pretending.

"You look marvelous tonight – simply marvelous."

"I think it's the wine – maybe we've had too much," she quipped.

Draco laughed. "No, just the right amount – and you're too self effacing."

"Am I," she teased. "Am I as hot as Pansy in that black outfit?"

"I never thought of Pansy as particularity hot."

"You two looked pretty cozy, arm and arm."

"Granger – you're making it very difficult."

"Yes, I guess I am. You're being very nice and here I am being an arse."

Draco looked at the witch hard. It was obvious she still wanted an explanation.

"You and Pansy," he began. "You couldn't have found two witches more unalike at Hogwarts. Pansy was... well a mental slut years before she became a physical one. But she has a good heart – and she never lets life get her down. And she's respected for that in a special kind of way."

Draco grabbed the carafe and poured more wine.

"But you Granger, are a total enigma. Never, in a million years would I have guessed you'd turn out the way you did."

"So, I'm a slut too?" she quipped disingenuously.

"No," he quickly corrected and laughed. "Of course not. The effort you've made to turn the war around is nothing short of amazing. You were always defiant – I'll give you that – but I just never figured the bookworm to blossom into the full figured fighter you've turned out to be."

"Is that a compliment?"

"It's the best one I've got. I may not really know you Granger – not yet. But I'm willing to give it as much time as it takes."

"Those are kind words Draco. But I'm really not sure if I know you either."

"You don't? What do you not know," he asked playfully.

"I don't know what you see in me. Our worlds are so different..."

"Hermione..."

Hermione lifted a hand to stop the wizard. She raised up from the table and sauntered towards the blonde wizard. She stopped a few feet short and ran her hands down her sides to smooth imaginary wrinkles.

"You don't have to tell me again – all that stuff about the weak women in your life. I really don't why you'd want me, but right now I'd be a fool to care."

Draco jumped up to embrace the witch.

"Sometimes it takes more than words Granger."

She moved in closer until Draco's hands were running up and down the sparkling fabric with a mind of their own. They settled on her sides and he pulled her in for a long kiss. He tugged and pulled at the latticed and jeweled fabric until Hermione's nipples firmed full and hard and threatened to push through.

He pushed back the bushy hair and nibbled a whisper into her ear. Without another word, they slid away from the table and made off for their room.

Safely inside, passions flared, and they kissed again. Tongues slithered and played and Draco reached behind her to find the zip fastener. After thick fingers failed, Hermione stepped back and carefully pulled the dress up just enough to reach the zipper. Slowly the zip fastener came down and she pulled off the shoulder straps and the whole works fell around her feet. She carefully stepped out of the gown and then unclipped and shook the bushy hair free.

Naked and sultry, she stood in front of Draco with only the red heeled sandals. He ran his eyes up and down her body, letting them drink their fill. Hungry hands reached out to feel the skin cooled by the chilly glass beads. Tiny goose pimples were beginning to rise when Draco pulled her into him and rubbed her back and arse until the goose pimples were gone.

After another deliciously long kiss, Draco stepped back to come out of the jacket. Taking a seat in a cushioned wingback, his eyes never left the witch as he hurriedly came out of his clothes. The only thing remaining were the conspicuously tented Y fronts.

Hermione chuckled and then pushed him back on the bed. She unhooked his cock from the waistband and pulled the Y fronts off in one long slide. Taking his length in two hands, she began to circle the tip of his manhood with her tongue. He immediately reacted and his body jerked and stiffened. Bearing down, she began to work him over in earnest. Several times he tried to pull her up but she wouldn't let him. She kept tonguing and pumping until saliva, sweetened with a trace of wine, coated his slippery length.

The blonde wizard couldn't hold out for much longer. Unable to resist her efforts, he completely surrendered to her witchcraft. He quivered and shook and called her name out several times before his love erupted like a fountain that nearly gagged the witch. Hermione kept it up until Draco was drained in every way.

It was now that Hermione noticed towels on the bed where there were none before. Without questioning the charm that put then there, they made use of them to tidy a bit.

After a little cuddling, and remarkable powers of recuperation, they were soon at it again. Draco kissed, and licked his way down her breasts to her tummy. Hermione was already so wet and ready she was embarrassed. He was gently furrowing her folds with his tongue when she grabbed him by the hair of the head and pulled him up.

"No – please," she pleaded.

Draco complied by snaking his way back up her belly and stopped with a long kiss. The kiss tasted of Draco, wine, and her own sex. Settling softly between her thighs, he was ready to go for it. There was that initial resistance then a sudden giving. It felt like falling off a cliff backwards. After a few coaxing thrusts he buried his full length into the writhing witch until they were one.

He began deliciously slow with tender movements; Hermione cooed and purred with his every move. But then he changed gears. Perhaps he was trying to show her, prove to her even, that his physical recovery was complete. He grabbed Hermione's legs behind the knees and shoved them apart and back until they were nearly touching the bed. This lifted her arse slightly and Draco began to piston the witch with all the length he had.

This show of physicality was something she'd not experienced from Draco before. Playing rough was something she'd yet to develop a liking for. But then all her partners except Ron had been like passing ships in the night; and Ron had never been exactly adventurous. But liking it or no, the effect became quickly electric. A little tingling began in her tummy and spread like wild-fire. Her abdomen began to roll and quake. Her breath came in gasps.

Hermione knew her zenith was near. She wished to savor the moment but the intensity of Draco's movements made her feel like she was on a runaway train. She wanted to slow it down but was helplessly pinned while he continued on like a raging bull. She looked away, trying to wash her mind of everything but the moment. It was then she noticed a sight so strange it was surreal. The glinting of two eyes were visible in a dark corner of the room. From the height off the floor she decided it had to be a house-elf.

A house-elf? There was house-elves in the room?

Rapidly departing reality for rapture – she had no power to object. Her mind was entering a dark tunnel with only a small light at the end. With only one thought left, she began, pinned or no, to drive her hips into his. With small waves then larger ones, her orgasm rolled over her like a small boat swept away in a storm. She screamed his name, fingernails digging in his back, as she pulled him into her. And just as quickly as a summer storm, it was over. When he let her legs go and she fell as limp a rag doll before melting into a pool of peaceful bliss.

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

It was mid-morning before Hermione felt like getting up. Draco had whispered something in her ear about business that needed tending and then disappeared after one more romantic interlude at dawn's early light. Several times after Draco left, she tried to pull herself up and out of bed only to fail miserably and disappear back under the covers.

The clarity of the morning would make two things perfectly clear. One: With seemingly unlimited stamina, Draco was completely over any malady or illness. Two: There were house-elves for every conceivable and inconceivable duty at the Manor. After a quick shower, she threw on a comfy T shirt with a warm cardie and jeans faded white from wear. Hattie was clearing away all signs of breakfast but still had some coffee on.

"Good morning Miss," greeted Hattie.

"Good morning Hattie – how are you?"

"Hattie and all the house-elves at Malfoy Manor are happy this morning."

The answer took Hermione a little by surprise.

"Really!? Why is that Hattie," she asked and dressed her coffee. Eddies of cream swirled until her coffee turned to the color of milk chocolate.

"Because you have made the Master of this house very happy, and because of that, we is all very happy. That's how it works at Malfoy Manor Miss Hermione."

Hermione nodded deep nods. "I see. Well, I'm glad to make everyone happy."

"Sorry I's had to clean away breakfast. Can I make you something?"

"Oh, no thanks Hattie – but you can answer a question that's been puzzling me."

"What's that Miss?"

"Well, if I'm not mistaken, there was a house-elf in our room last night?"

Hattie seemed to blush. She wrinkled her nose and wiggled her ears.

"Oh, I don't know Miss – but yes, most likely it was."

"Yes, but it was very late," Hermione replied as discreetly as she could. "Draco and I were... well you understand?"

There was more nervous ear wiggling. "Yes Miss, Hattie does. You see, there are Chamber-elves here at the Manor. They is here for your protection and personal needs – all your personal needs. They has always been personal Chamber-elves at Malfoy Manor for as long as anyone can remember."

"Really," Hermione blurted a reply while her brain labored to process all the possibilities of Hattie's answer. "Well... thanks Hattie."

For the rest of the day, Hermione sorted her things into the new quarters she would share with Draco. Her wardrobe had been moved the previous evening and everything else she owned or borrowed was easily put away within the hour. It would take her a little while to get her head around this concept of Chamber-elves. She would prefer to immediately address this issue with Draco but his business kept him away all day.

It was well after five o'clock when she got the message that Draco would be returning, and dinner would be served at seven. She assumed there would be no guests but the message didn't make this point clear. She had just stepped out of the shower and into a thick terrycloth robe when she literally bounced into Draco.

"Sorry love," he began. "But this business kept me later than I expected."

"I was a bit worried – you should have left word," she fussed.

This bit of domestic banter seemed to arouse the wizard affectionately. Immediately his hands shot inside her gown to cop a feel. His hands felt like ice but she didn't move an inch.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't think – I should have left word."

"And I missed our walk today," she mewled as he continued to caress her under the gown.

"We'll go further tomorrow."

"I'll hold you to that, you know."

Quickly Draco moved in for a kiss. As lips parted naturally, his tongue shot in to play until Hermione cut it short.

"I have to get ready. Are you dressing?" she asked. Draco removed his hands and pulled her gown together.

"Of course."

"Draco?"

"Yes."

"Will we always dress for dinner?"

"Of course. You go ahead. I'll take a quick shower and be down in a minute."

"It takes a while you know," she said.

"Oh," he said as if he had no knowledge of such things. "Well, take your time then."

Draco peeled out of his clothes for the shower, throwing a towel around his neck while leaving his tumidity free to dangle. This would take a bit of getting used to – living with a man.

The roomy en-suite bathroom had a his and her vanity. She put on a bit of makeup and checked the fit of her dress in the mirror before heading out. The gown was pretty _and_ conservative. She had no desire to awaken the animal in Draco again tonight.

After waiting all day for his return she was absolutely famished. Alfred rapped on the door to escort her down while Draco was still basking under hot water. She was now free to move about the Manor on her own accord, but she happily welcomed the formality of being escorted at formal gatherings, meetings, and dinner.

Alfred held the dining room door for Hermione. "Thank you Alfred," she said, but being his usual taciturn self, Alfred was unresponsive. She drifted in and spotted the the head waiter standing at his usual station.

"Good evening Dinny."

"Good evening Miss Hermione."

In a matter of seconds Dinny had water, wine, and a basket of yeast rolls on the table. Reaching for a plump roll, she stopped short as the master of the house sauntered in. Dressed in a jet black dinner jacket, long blonde hair fell to the nape of the neck. Just looking at him, coupled with fresh memories of the night before, showered her skin with goose pimples.

She gathered herself and went for the fat yeast roll.

"So how was business?" she asked and then bit into the roll.

"Some holdings of the family – some out of town properties – needed some attention badly."

"Is that all taken care of?"

"I think so."

"I was afraid you were trying to get out of our walk," she teased.

"Didn't you get enough exercise last night?"

Hermione flushed and then smiled a crooked smile. "I was wondering who let the wild animal in the bedroom last night?"

"It was you – the sight of you in that gown – it was hot, that's all."

"I wonder sometimes. I mean these gowns are so scant. I think I should just put on heels and makeup and arrive naked. It would save money on the gowns."

Draco laughed. "That reminds me of a story."

"Really!? Prey tell," she said and reached for another fat roll.

"Many years ago, the lord and master of these lands was Mortice Malfoy. He had a lovely bride, Volupshua. Well – Volupshua had a gown made up that was enhanced with a special charm. To all except Mortice, the gown was completely opaque and silvery in color. But to Mortice, it was completely non-existent and he saw Volupshua completely in the raw."

Draco paused to sample the wine. Finished with the roll, Hermione was all ears.

"Well," he continued. "One night something went wrong with the charm. When Volupshua checked the gown in the mirror it was silvery and opaque, but when she went downstairs to greet a houseful of guests she looked completely starkers to all."

"Oh, my God," exclaimed Hermione. "I can only imagine."

"Hey, that's magic for you. Sometimes it does what you want and sometimes it doesn't."

"I have a story too."

"Oh yeah, what's that?"

"I thought I saw a house-elf in the room last night."

"Did you really?" he asked disingenuously.

"Yes, in the corner, watching over us like a little cherub Angel."

Draco paused. "Well, that's because you did. They're Chamber-elves."

Hermione nodded. "Hattie mentioned as much, but what the hell's a Chamber-elf."

"The use of Chamber-eves is a throwback to olden days. They watch after your safety and take care of personal needs – even the most delicate of personal needs. It's the Chamber-elf who applied the birth control charm," he explained.

"Yes, but I can do that myself,

"I'm sure, but they don't forget if you've had too much to drink. And it's been proven that it's safer for the witch to have the charm administered right after the act rather than wait till morning."

"You're puling my leg."

"I swear," he insisted with a grin.

"Well, anyway – having them in the bedroom is just a little pervy, don't you think?"

Draco threw up his hands in surrender.

"You're right – it is, but house-elves are not the same as us – so they don't find what we do in the sack particularity titillating. They exist only to make the master and lady of the house happy. That's what gives them joy."

"And just how do you know all this?"

"It's been communicated down through the years with thorough consistency."

"Has it?" she asked with a scowl.

"Look, I can see you're unhappy. I can't expect you to abide with all the ancient customs here at the Manor. Would you like to get rid of them?"

Hermione thought about this for a while.

"What will they do?" she asked with concern.

"Nothing here – there's nothing else they're suitable for. Perhaps another well-to-do family can use them."

"So, they'll have to leave then?"

"There's nowhere else to put them. We'll take em down to House-elf unemployment tomorrow."

"But what if they don't find another family?"

"You're asking too many questions, do you want to get rid of them or not?"

Hermione's face instantly soured. She remembered how horribly Winky suffered after she was dropped from the Crouch household.

"That's cruel Draco. Is there no way we can use them here?"

"There's nothing else they can do, besides they'd never fit in with the other workers."

Hermione shook her head in disgust.

"Well, we can't just discard them like a pair of old shoes. But if they stay in our bedroom I better not catch them selling admission tickets."

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

The next days few days were the best Hermione has experienced in a long time. She loved their walks together and felt miserable when Draco was called away on business. No matter how tired Draco was an the end of a long day, the sight of Hermione at dinner brought new light to his eyes. Teaching them discretion, and encouraging them to knock, Hermione found a way to tolerate the Chamber-elves and came to believe that Draco was right about them.

There was only one front of which they had made little to no progress; and that was finding a way to end the war. They had many discussions over dinner on this puzzling subject.

"I tell you, the hard-liners are split on this and won't budge," he barked, and motioned for more wine.

"Well, what would encourage them to move in favor of ending this conflict?"

"I'm thinking it'll take a move from your side – I mean the Order – I know you're on our side now."

Hermione guessed this was more than a mere slip of the tongue.

"Go on," she instructed.

"They want a complete surrender Hermione. Hell, they'll never get that from us and you know it. We're prepared to fight on if they push on this. They'll have to accept an agreement. I hate to even suggest it, but you may be able to help?"

"Me!? How Draco, I've been away for too long."

"You know them better than we do – maybe you could talk to them – this may be our only chance to end the fighting in any reasonable amount of time."

"I'm afraid of the Order now Draco. Things have obviously changed for me now. If I leave Malfoy Manor they may not allow me to come back."

"But there has to be some diplomatic channel if we're ever going to sort this out."

"Hell! They're just as likely to consider me a traitor now," she argued.

"You'd be a diplomat. We'd never let them hold you – I promise you that."

Hermione thought on this for some time.

"Draco?"

"What?"

"Do you love me?"

Draco paused awkwardly at the question.

"I wondered if I'd ever hear you ask me that. Of course I do."

"Then, I'll go."

:

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**A/N:** There were many good comments this time. Deep heart felt grats for all of those: Hermionehp135, ElizaLane, hoshiakari7, M, LanaLee1, Loopygirl1, mega700201, Aria-Dramione97, and R0ckerbaby. And a great big thanks for the new follows and favs, and especially to all who read.

It might be noted (just for fun) that Asparagus, which Hermione and Draco have in their first evening meal, has long been considered an Aphrodisiac. You see, there is something to be said about eating your vegetables. :)

DQ


	24. The Emissary

**.**

"**When You don't know what to do, just do whatever comes next and go from there."  
― Madeleine Brent, _Moonraker's Bride_**

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**The Tower Window**

**.**

**24\. The Emissary**

It was past five o'clock and Hermione was beginning to wonder if Draco Malfoy would return for dinner. At that very moment, with the slapping of large elf feet, Daisy comes scampering up holding a note in her hand.

"It's news of Mister Draco," announced the elf with a definite feminine croak.

"It is – let's see then." Hermione took the note and read.

* * *

Hermione,

Sorry for the late notice. We'll be having Pansy and her new friend over for dinner. Also, there's a new development with the divided vote among the Hawks (Hard-liners).

Love,

Draco

* * *

Hermione stared at the note for at least a minute. The wizard had been gone all day and now news of company on their doorstep. She would barely have time enough time to get ready.

"We'll have to hurry Daisy," she snapped.

"Yes Miss. We will."

"Let's pick out a gown and I'll catch the shower after the water warms up."

Hermione, with Daisy in tow, scurried off to Hermione's wardrobe. She remembered the last time Pansy was invited and she remembered the dress she was wearing – and she remembered her man walking away with her. Well, this time she wouldn't be easily outdone. She wouldn't pull out all the stops but she wouldn't be outdone either.

You could see the enthusiasm in Daisy's eyes as they pulled the wardrobe doors open. She loved the new position Hermione had arranged for her. The Chamber-elves were a little put off by Daisy moving into the living quarters of the house, but they were still able to maintain their regular duties during the evening hours.

A dress that stood out above the others was a forest green satiny gown with a visible sheen to it. Light and ethereal up top, it had delicate gold chain straps to hold up the scant front with a cord cinch for the waist. It still needed something; and talented with the required magic, Daisy conjured a long split over the right leg. Hermione tried it on and they both were tickled to the point of giddiness.

It was certainly not as outrageous as her red bejeweled see-through fishing net, but certainly up to the task ahead.

Not in her wildest dreams could Hermione have conjured in the mind the new life she found herself in. Sometimes when she was alone, and when no one was watching, she would pinch herself to make sure she wasn't dreaming. The thought of spending a life – a happy life – with Draco Malfoy would have been, before this time, unimaginable.

But there it was, and up to this point it was very good. There was no denying the fact that she and Draco were now very much in love. _Very much in love._ It was almost too much to get her head around. He had been, in her school days, one of the most foul youths she'd ever known. But he had changed – and he had changed her life in the process of doing so.

But still, there were awkward moments. There were things she would prefer to change, but life in the Manor was steeped in hundreds of years of tradition and those things would likely never change. She might as well just get get used to them, so she was learning to accept these eccentricities as best she could.

"I think this one will do Daisy."

"Yes Miss – it is very beautiful."

Satisfied she could match anything Pansy could throw her way, Hermione headed off for the shower with Daisy. Applying just enough makeup in front of the long vanity, she unclipped the bushy hair to let it fly and then slithered into the gown.

With a touch of clear nail varnish, she was off with Alfred to greet the guests. This was still no sign of Draco, and this was a little bit unusual. She double-checked the gown and it was scant. If it was anyone but Pansy and a friend, it would feel downright uncomfortable.

As Hermione passed the large foyer, she heard the doors open and stopped to look back. Pansy with a gent she didn't recognize were shaking off the winter's cold and coming out of their long coats. Already there was a color collision. Pansy was pulling off a long satin green coat with a matching gown underneath. It wasn't quite the same shade as Hermione's but a little too close for comfort.

The house-elf greeter put away their coats while Hermione stood waiting, just outside the foyer. Finally Pansy spotted the witch.

"Oh Hermione," she said and motioned with one hand while holding on to the new man tightly. Pansy couldn't hide the excitement in her face as they scurried up.

"Hermione, I'd like you to meet Frederick – Frederick Hanson – Frederick meet Hermione."

"It's so nice to meet you Frederick."

"It's my pleasure – I assure you," replied Frederick with a slight bow.

"Draco shouldn't be along. I can't for the life of me imagine what's keeping him."

"There was a huge argy bargy at the Ministry," said Pansy in a secretive voice so light Hermione had trouble making it out.

"Really – I hope there's no problem," Hermione said and stiffened a bit.

"Oh, I don't think it's anything like that," added Pansy.

There was the unmistakable sound of the front doors swinging open. For a moment Hermione considered ignoring it until voices besides Draco's grew louder and more numerous. Finally Draco and a half a dozen Hard-liners staggered into the foyer. It was obvious they all had been drinking.

Hermione grinned as her man approached her on unsteady feet.

"We'll have a few extra guests tonight – I hope that's alright love," he began with a kiss to the cheek. "Good to see you, by the way," he continued and took Pansy's hand. "And you Frederick," he added as if just spotting the man.

"Draco – you're pissed," snapped Hermione. Finally out of their long coats, the rest of the party wobbled unsteadily toward them. First to extend a hand was Richard Fawley, the rather good looking gent who was chairman at the war council.

More guests began to drag up in short time. Selwyn, Macmillan, Yaxley, Rowle, and Rosier began their way toward the dinner table. Before it was over, Marcus, Gregory, and Theo also came in to continue the argument that started at the Ministry building. Hermione squirmed slightly, as Yaxley, Rowle, and some of the other Troglodytes were eyeing her tits in the skimpy gown like they'd never seen a woman before. Now she felt foolish for trying to upstage Pansy who was, for the first time since Hogwarts, dressed rather conservatively.

"Gentlemen!" announced Draco. "I know you're all famished, so join me for refreshment in the dining room!" There was a brief cheer of thanks and then all followed Draco with no further encouragement. As his coterie each found a seat, their attention quickly moved from Hermione's tits to the banquet the elves laid out in front of them.

They all ate like pigs, but being the gentlemen they were, apologized constantly for their bad manners.

After the meal was consumed, eyes began to drift around the table and the discussions of war began to resurface.

"We'll never surrender Draco," began Fawley. "The Order will have to offer us terms to end the hostilities. You know that as well as I do."

"I do," pleaded Draco, and he paused to raise a hand. "And it just so happens we have an excellent negotiator."

Suspicious eyes ran around the table.

"And just who would you be referring to?"

Draco pointed the palm of his hand toward the end of the table.

"Who – Pansy?"

"No. Not that she couldn't, but she knows little of the Order. No gentlemen, I give you Hermione Granger."

There was a hush around the table. No one said anything good – and they didn't make any cutting comments either. They were just quiet.

"Come on you lot," repeated Draco. "She damn well knows the Order."

"Draco," injected Hermione.

"No, it's true," he repeated.

"Draco," pleaded Rosier. "We don't wish to insult your fine hospitality, but perhaps we should discuss this elsewhere."

"Elsewhere?" he asked. "You wish to discus this elsewhere – fine, who feels the same way?"

"It's a good idea Draco," chimed in Selwyn.

"Yeah, I think so too," agreed Rowle. Yaxley, stone faced, never moved a muscle or spoke a single word.

"Very good then," announced Draco. "Ladies, if you'll excuse us?" he asked Hermione.

"Certainly Draco."

"We'll be off to the smoking room then – Dinny, can you fetch a box of our finest cigars?" he asked the house-elf in charge of the dining facilities. Dinny, bowed obsequiously and trotted off to return momentarily with a box cradled firmly in both hand.

"Thank you Dinny." With that, Draco and his band of followers struggled up to head toward the smoking room. Poor Frederick looked at Pansy apologetically but was forced to join his fellow countrymen who were laughing and gabbing all the way

:

Hermione and Pansy looked at one another as if unable to comprehend this merry sight.

"Men. Can you believe all of this tripe?" asked Pansy and shook her head.

"No. Sometimes – but tonight – all of this? No."

Pansy looked around at the cluttered table and shook her head.

"I just hate sitting over a dirty table. Can we move somewhere else?"

"Of course. We'll use the sitting room." Hermione kicked a leg out from the split hem and rose to her feet.

"Did I tell how good you look?" Pansy flattered.

"You needn't."

"Nonsense – you're positively radiant in that gown. You look better than anything they had for supper."

Hermione was a little taken back by the remark. She often wondered about Pansy – she wondered if her insatiable appetite included women.

"So... Frederick – where'd you find him?" asked Hermione.

"You wouldn't believe it – just found him at my feet actually. Would you believe we went to school together."

"Can't say that I recognize him – and where's he been all this time?" implored Hermione.

"He's been away at university for quite some time. It handily kept his arse out of the war; I can tell you that. But I just ran into him not long ago. When he introduced himself, I almost fainted. He doesn't look anything like himself at school."

"How convenient!"

"Isn't he a hunk?" asked Pansy.

"A good man can be hard to find." Actually Hermione could care less about Pansy's needs. Pansy had been through a train of men since Hogwarts. Just as long as she stayed away from Draco.

Hermione and Pansy continued the chit-chat until quite late. Finally the doors to the smoking room burst open and Draco, followed by his band of fellow libertarians, stormed out to meet them.

"That's enough for one night," he announced as the party went for their coats. Hermione said goodnight to Pansy; and poor Frederick's smile returned, once his arms were around Pansy and they both had their coats.

In the corridor, Draco and Hermione waved goodbye to their guests as they disappeared down the foyer. Standing behind her, Draco reached up to caress her side-boobs. In another quick move his hands slithering under her gown as she continued to wave goodnight. Several catcalls of encouragement quickly ensued.

Clearly Draco was still under the effects of drink. Hermione feared it could be shaping up to be a long night.

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

It turned out to be a long night. Draco was so very cute that Hermione found him irresistible when a little tipsy from drink. No – actually she found him irresistible several times, and in the morning she felt absolutely rotten. But rotten in a good way.

The Chamber-elves, of whom she had worked so hard to train, barged into the room with towels and wash clothes at all hours of the night. In the most inconvenient times they wandered in. She looked to speak with the elves about this but could only shake her head. They seemed relentless in their desire to please. Would it do any good to scold them, except to hurt their feelings – probably not. Still, a screaming orgasm should be a private thing, she reasoned.

It was over breakfast in the dining room Draco tired of their small talk.

"Dinny – another orange juice please," he said and handed the glass to the elf.

"Do you think a full breakfast is wise Draco? I mean, after all you had to drink last night..."

"Ah, it wasn't that much. And besides, a full breakfast always helps me after I've had too much to drink."

"So what came out of the meeting – anything?"

"They're ready to seek an agreement – a ceasefire if you like."

"Well, that's great. That's what we've been wanting."

"Of course , but not so fast. They want a heads up before we enter formal negotiations. There's no reason to get everyone's hopes up until we have a clue what it is they want."

"So, you _will_ need me then."

"Yes Granger – I believe you'll be of some use after all."

"You've got the bloody cheek."

"Just kidding love – you've been a tremendous help. But if you don't want to face your old friends then we can find someone else."

"Do you think you can – find someone else?"

Draco looked hard at Hermione. "I don't know who else to ask, but I won't send you if you're not one hundred percent comfortable with this."

Hermione had known all along she would have to first contact Harry via the magic chapbooks. That would be the safest way. He was after all the only one she truly trusted.

"I'll go Monday."

"Hermione – come here," he said and pulled his chair away from the table. "Please?"

She pulled a lugubrious face but went over to the wizard.

"Promise me," he said, and she replied with a pouty face.

"Promise me you won't go if you don't feel good about it." he reached around her waist and pulled her in.

"Don't worry Draco, I'll be fine."

"That's not what you said the other night."

"I've thought it through, and I'm sure I'll be fine."

"Well, then there's only one thing left to say."

"And what's that?"

"I love you."

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

After breakfast Hermione was able to steal away some time to herself. Draco was busy discussing work with the new groundskeeper. She pulled out the chapbook, _Classic Ballads by Blablabla,_ from the shelf and wrote:

* * *

Aragog: I need to set up a meeting with Harry.

I've told them I would try and do this Monday.

Your servant

H.G.

* * *

She put the book back on the shelf and said a little prayer for the plan to work. Living in the Manor felt like an isolated and insular world but she knew that gossip had a way of traveling great distances and moved through stone walls, no matter how thick they were.

The Order would most likely be aware she was living with Draco. In all likelihood, there would think of that as an embarrassment. They had sent her to kill him and now they were lovers. They might refuse to speak with her.

She checked the book again before lunch.

* * *

Fawkes: Then meet at the Hog's Head Inn for lunch on Monday.

* * *

There it was. Short and sweet. But so very short, without a trace of warmth to the message.

Over the weekend she tried and hide her apprehension from Draco, but he was not to be fooled.

"It's only a little pressure I feel," she lied. "I want to see an end to the war so badly. I would be delighted to feel I had a part in that."

"And you're sure it's nothing else?"

She could only shake her head. She still could not bring herself to tell him of the chapbooks. To make matters worse, she felt like a cheat.

At eleven thirty, she gave Draco a kiss and made a move for the door. He pulled her back for another kiss – a real kiss this time followed by a hug. They were young lovers in young-love – and it burned hot with intensity.

Reluctantly she wriggled out of his arms and walked somberly to the garden. With a zip and a pop she was standing in Hogsmeade and looking up at The Hog's Head Inn. It was a wise choice to meet there.

In the event of a trick or an attack Harry could escape through one of the many tunnels. Aberforth would no doubt be watching her every move. The whole setup seemed to suggest that they no longer trusted her.

The place had changed little with the passing of years. The wooden sign over the door was dry and cracked and in bad need of paint. The windows didn't look like they'd been washed since the Hogwarts days when Dumbledore's Army conducted their first meetings there. She stepped up to the pub type double doors and entered with a push.

The place smelled like the many goats that roamed freely there. Behind the bar was an old service bell with a leather lanyard tied to the clapper.

She snapped the lanyard several times before the Innkeeper rambled out of a back room.

Aberforth took one hard look at her. Still unclean and unshaven, he was just as foul in appearance as any time in the past. It was good to know some things never changed.

"Well, Granger," he began while looking her over. "You've filled out rather nicely."

"I'm charmed of course – is Harry here?"

The wizard nodded and led her down to the room where she, Harry, and Ron used to escape Death Eaters and the caterwauling charm. The centerpiece in the room was still Ariana's portrait. The place looked and smelled exactly as it did, but there was no Harry.

"I'll bring lunch," Aberforth said and ambled away.

She sat there, thinking of the war, and how things had changed for her since that time. She killed time wandereing aimlessly through the corridors of her mind.

"Speak of the Devil."

"Harry!"

"Hello Hermione," he said with a huge grin as she jumped up to hug the wizard.

"It's so good to see you," she exclaimed and squeezed her old friend as hard as she could for one last moment before letting him go.

"Let me look at you," he said and stepped back a step. "Uhmm, better than ever. At least they're feeding you."

She grinned ear to ear and stepped back to look at Harry. Unfortunately she couldn't give him the same appraisal. He looked tired and thin.

About this time Aberforth slogged in with a tray containing lunch. He had corn-beef sandwiches with a bowl of chips and two dusty bottles of Butterbeer that were barely cool.

"How is everyone? You know I miss them so badly?"

"Well – they're still alive – at least most of them. Tired of the war.. we're all so tired of the war."

"That's why I'm here Harry. Let's figure a way to end it."

"Yes, yes – of course. But first, I've been given a few questions to ask."

"Of course Harry," she said, dropping the smile and taken back by the comment.

"We've heard odd rumors Hermione, and it's obvious your mission to get rid of Malfoy failed."

"It wasn't a complete failure. I tried Harry. I really did. I ran a knife into his side – but he didn't die. And you know, I'm so very glad of it because..."

"Yes, but Hermione... what's been going on? Are you a prisoner or what? At one time we heard you were locked up in some little cottage behind the Manor."

She shook her head vigorously. "No no, that was never true – it wasn't me. It was someone else on Polyjuice potion. I was always inside the Manor."

"But Hermione, you're in pretty good shape to be a prisoner. And if you're a prisoner – how did you get out. Are you under the effects of a spell of some kind?"

"No Harry, I'm not. At worst, I was only under house arrest – but not even that now."

Harry leaned back in the chair. It was if her testimony confirmed his worst suspicions.

"We heard you two are a couple now – is that true?"

"Harry, I came here to help end the war. Isn't that the most important thing. Isn't that what really matters?"

"So you're not denying it. You _have_ coupled with Malfoy?"

"Harry, there's a lot to tell. You don't yet fully understand."

"Hermione – you know I love you like a sister?"

"What's the matter Harry?" she asked as horror swept across her face.

At that time Aberforth entered the room again. There was the sound of heavy footsteps clunking down the stairs. Ron plus other members of the Order entered the small room with wands drawn.

"Hermione," continued Harry, painfully. "Until we get this sorted out – you're under arrest."

.

* * *

**A/N:** Forgive the short chapter, but I'm headed out for vacation, or holiday for you non-US lot, this week and part of the next. I'll try to have the next installment ready on time.

Much thanks for the comment from KellyCakerMaker, puddleinthefloor, , Kats02980416, farinne1, LanaLee1, mega700201, Leti0422, and finally 'Guest'. But to all who read, followed, or faved, a heartfelt thanks. :)


	25. A Secret Mission

**.**

**'A girl expecting rescue never learns to save herself. Even with the means, she will find her courage wanting.'**

**\- Kate Morton, The Forgotten Garden **

**.**

**The Tower Window**

**.**

**25\. A Secret Mission**

"Arrest!?" exclaimed Hermione. She turned to look at all the wizards filing down the steps with wands aimed her way. "Are you mental? I'm here to help."

"Yes, but to help who?" piped in Ron.

"Us all – of course. I'm here to help end the war."

"It certainly doesn't look that way," he griped.

"Well, just what the hell does it look like Ron?"

"Ron – Hermione, please," injected Harry. "Hermione, I'm afraid your stock has fallen a bit..."

"Because I failed to kill Malfoy."

"That didn't help, but more specifically it was giving away our meeting place in Godric's Hollow..."

"But..."

"...and you followed that by giving up Grimmauld Place. Do you have any idea how long it's been a hiding place for the Order?"

"Of course I do Harry, but I had to do something to win their confidence. And you were warned both times."

Harry dipped his head. Hermione looked around the room to study the faces of every person there. Ron, George, and even Ginny were now holding wands against her. Only Ron looked like he really wanted to be there. Neville, and Luna also looked a bit dejected about the whole thing. Like Ron, Katie Bell and Hannah Abbott looked firm in their convictions.

"Okay," conceded Harry. "So let's hear your story."

"I don't have a story Harry. I'm here to tell you the Ministry is ready to negotiate – but they want a heads up before they attempt formal talks. Is that reasonable enough for you?"

"Ready to negotiate? We've heard these claims before. But what they really wanted was to create a diversion before another attack. What makes you think this is any different Hermione?"

"Because – I've been there with them Harry – that's how I know."

"It'll take a bit more than that. How do you know they're not playing you?"

"That's not likely. Look Harry, Malfoy doesn't want this war, and many of the Ministry feel the same. Only the Hard-liners want to continue fighting. The Durmstrangs have just about given up on them and for the first time the Ministry is running a little short on wizards. Why not use this time to seek a truce; followed by peace and an end to this war?"

"Why not use this time to finish them off," piped in Ron.

"I'm not sure Hermione," continued Harry. "Your views seem decidedly sympathetic to the Ministry. You seem like you've changed since we last knew you, and we'll need time to decide whose side you're really on."

"I'm on no one's side Harry. So far, neither the Order nor the Ministry could bring an end to this war. Yes, I tried killing Malfoy by running a knife in his side, but that didn't work. And I know now that further bloodshed was never the answer. I don't want any sides Harry. Not yours, not theirs. I want an end to this war and one magical community at peace."

For the first time, Harry paused, then leaned back in his chair to mull over Hermione's argument.

"Okay Hermione, let me re-phrase the question then. What are their terms?"

"A simple end of the war – no more fighting and no surrenders. They keep their properties and estates and stay out of Azkaban. They're willing to form a new wizard's council with half the members made up from the Order. A fifty fifty arrangement."

"That's a load of tripe," cracked Ron. "Are we supposed to just forget the friends and family they've killed?"

"That's exactly what we do – in a manner of speaking Ron. We bury the dead along with our differences and move on."

"Easy for you to say."

"No, it's not. But there has to be an end somewhere. It seems like you'd understand that Ron. You were nearly killed in the last battle from what I understand."

"Yeah – one that you helped set up."

"No one was forced to go, and the Order was well warned. Look!" cried Hermione. "This bickering is getting us nowhere."

Finally a silence fell over the room as if each witch and wizard paused for a moment to consider the possibilities of peace. Hermione felt a tinge of guilt. Her proposal was of course self-serving. She would be able to enjoy the satin sheets and luxuries of Malfoy Manor under these terms. She feared they might sense this and use it as an excuse to reject the whole plan. Ron would reject it no matter how it was worded. The hell with Ron, she thought.

Deep in thought, and studying the table top aimlessly, Harry finally lifted his head and fixed his gaze on Hermione.

"Alright Hermione – we'll study your proposal. Until we've had time to reach a decision, you'll have to stay here with us... and, I'll have to ask for your wand."

Hermione clenched her lips tightly. If he only knew how much trouble she had to go through to get it back. With reluctance and moving as slow as molasses, she pulled the wand out of her waistband and slapped it on the table. Harry gathered it up in one quick move.

"And where do you intend to hold me?" she asked, but the question fell on deaf ears.

Harry spun around and signaled to Aberforth. The old wizard struggled out of his chair and ambled over to the portrait.

"We'll be coming through Ariana."

Ariana nodded and performed a minuscule curtsy. The frame clicked open as Aberforth drug a small step ladder up to the portrait. The tunnel behind the portrait appeared cold and dark. He then performed an incantation of some sort and torches along the stone walls sprung to fiery life.

"You've got to be kidding," said Hermione. "You're not using the room of requirement for a prison?"

"Why not," returned Harry. "Entered this way, it's still extremely secure – besides we have help on the inside," he said with a grin.

One by one the girls began to ascend the ladder and disappear down the tunnel. Hermione lingered at the base of the ladder.

"Okay," she said. "What do you propose to do with me if my plan is rejected?"

Harry pulled a mock face.

"Execution!" quipped Ron.

"And to think I actually shed a tear at the news of your death," she said and scrambled into the tunnel.

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

Draco Malfoy sat, anxiously awaiting Hermione's return. His hopes of seeing the witch faded along with the light of the short winter's day. Reluctantly, he had agreed to take dinner alone. And as he sat there, sullenly looking across the table at the empty place setting, he grew furious with himself.

He should have never let her go; he could see this so clearly now. It would have been better to have sent a letter instead, he now reasoned. If he only had news or word of any kind. Was she safe? Or had she run into trouble? Ministry spies were looking in every nook and cranny of the entire magical community, but the odds in finding her whereabouts where almost nil.

He knew she had arranged a meeting at the Hogshead Inn, and he also knew she was not there now. The Inn's keeper claimed to have never seen her. He also knew the Inn's keeper was Aberforth Dumbledore and a firm supporter, if not an outright activist, in the Order.

With his supper nearly untouched and growing cold in front of him, there came the unmistakable slapping of elf feet running into the dining room.

"Mister Draco," said Dinky.

"Yes Dinky." Dinky was carrying a note addressed to the master of the house. The elf had no idea what news the note contained but sensed it's importance.

With feeble hands, he served the note to his master.

With equal caution, Draco opened the folded parchment and read:

* * *

To Draco Malfoy,

We may be called many things but we refuse to be called uncivil.

We wish to inform you that Hermione is safe but will be held in custody

until a time that we see fit to release her. Her mental status and her story

of your desire to enter negotiations for peace is being considered in earnest.

Sincerely,

Harry Potter

The Order of the Phoenix

* * *

Draco stared at the note as if unable to comprehend it's meaning. Slowly an anger began to well up inside and he slammed the bit of parchment on the table with all his force.

"G-damnit – G-damnit it all to hell!" he shouted. Poor Dinky backed away in trembling fear.

"Dinky!"

The elf raised his head obsequiously. "Yes Master."

"Dinky, I've been a fool. Get a note, if you can, to Richard Fawley."

"Yes Master," he replied with a shaky voice.

"Tell him, we must assemble the War Council at once."

Dinky nodded deeply.

"Run along then and do that," continued Draco, "I'll make it official with my signature and seal."

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

Hermione sat alone in the vast emptiness of the Room of Requirement. The room was outfitted just as it was the night they came through the portrait, on the eve of the Battle of Hogwarts, so long ago. The hammocks were hanging from the ceiling just as they did on the night of the Battle. The only difference was that she was alone now. Once again, a prisoner in some dark and lonely place.

And there was no windows this time, nor books, nor diversions of any kind to ease her acute boredom. She had no idea what hour it was, but her stomach told her it was way past dinner. She almost laughed. _Way past dinner._ How quickly she had gotten used to being spoiled at the Manor after being a prisoner for so long.

At that very moment, her quiet musing were interrupted by a scuffling sound behind the portrait.

"Hermione – are you decent? I've brought supper."

She couldn't believe it. The voice was unmistakable. It was Ron. Had he come to assail her further or apologize for being an arse? Either way, she didn't need it.

"Of course I'm decent Ron. You think I'm in my negligee or something."

With that, the red headed wizard scampered down from the cubbyhole behind the portrait and then reached back for a tray of food. With a display of caution that was most out of character, he set the food and drink on a nearby table.

"I think there's enough for two – do you mind?"

Hermione almost laughed. It was so like Ron to be unable to watch someone eat without taking part himself.

"I'd say, be my guest, but I think that's hardly applicable... sure, have a seat."

He nodded and then popped the top off two dusty bottles of butterbeer. There were two corned beef sandwiches and a bowl of piping hot chips. For several minutes they ate in an eery silence.

"There's something on your mind Ron," she began. "Let's have it."

"Not as much as you think Hermione."

"Oh no. Well what is it then – bad news? Are they clamoring for my head on a stick?" she asked and then bit the end off a golden brown chip.

Ron shook his head. "No – nothing like that. But they do want to hold you – until they've had a chance to talk to Malfoy."

"I'm not so sure he'll be in a mood to talk now. The Ministry thought they were making some great concession in allowing me to come here. They'll be pissed now," she replied.

"You seem like you know em pretty well?"

"Ah, yes. So that's it. You've come to ask me about Malfoy."

Ron rolled his shoulders in a shrug. "Maybe. I guess I can understand part of it. I know I pissed you off."

"Yes, but it wasn't about you Ron."

"But if you only knew Hermione..."

"Knew what Ron?"

"Some of the things he said. Some of the things he did – back at Hogwarts, back at school."

"But Ron that was a long time ago. People change – things change – and the reasons for war change as well. All that – all that stuff – it's behind us now."

"I'm not sure if I want it to be all behind me. Not all of it."

"Oh Ron – please, don't go there."

"I understand. I know it's over. But I also know I was an arse earlier. Maybe I've been an arse all along. I don't know, but I didn't want to leave it that way."

"You have been an arse, but it hardly matters to me now."

The wizard nodded regretfully. Hermione let the whole thing drop and went back to eating her sandwich.

"Well," he announced. "I'll let you finish supper. I'm pretty sure Harry will want to speak with you tomorrow."

"Thanks Ron. Thanks for the sandwich," she said and sighed in thought. "And Ron?"

"Yes Hermione?"

"Thanks..."

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

The old chambers for the Wizengamot were already churning with activity and a cacophony of chatter when Draco arrived. It took a few moments for the crowd and Fawley to spot him and call order to the meeting.

A hush fell over the chambers as Draco began to speak.

"We've been betrayed," he began. "Our messenger of peace, Hermione Granger, has been taken prisoner this very night. It was our intention for her to spearhead an effort for peace talks. Instead, we receive this bit of treachery for our efforts," he shouted, waving the offending parchment in the air.

"I told you they weren't worth the effort," piped in the Hard-liner Yaxley. "We ought to kill em all."

A few cheered Yaxley's suggestion while Richard Fawley extended his arms to quiet the ruckus.

"Draco – just what is it you suggest we do?"

"We can capture a member of the Order for a trade. That should bring a fair response."

"But Draco, Miss Granger – she's not really one of us. What if this whole thing is a ruse? Then what?"

With this statement, Fawley won the applause of a majority in the room.

"I take offense to your comment sir – Hermione Granger is definitely one of us now," barked Draco.

Fawley held up his hand to assuage the wizard. "There's no need for anger Draco. We'll work this out I assure you. But who can we take in exchange for Hermione. It can't be just anyone."

"No it can't," he agreed. "She went to meet Potter at the Hog's Head Inn, which is of course run by Aberforth Dumbledore. The old geezer is a known supporter of the Order. Now he claims he never saw Hermione enter his business – I believe he's lying and I say we take _him_."

A round of applause and approving chatter went up around the room. Fawley pulled his chin with his fingers while taking the appropriate time to weigh the response.

"And then what?" he replied. "What if it doesn't work?"

"I say we draw up battle plans for our next attack. We've had several good proposals lately – instead of talking, I say we act on them," came Draco's immediate reply. A round of cheers erupted from the Troglodyte Hard-liners.

"Alright, alright. We'll consider your suggestions. Now, I would suggest we chill for the night and meet here again tomorrow at noon. If the situation is unimproved, we'll embark on Hogsmeade in force.

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

Uncomfortable beyond words, Hermione lay curled up in a hammock and listened to an old clock play Westminster Chimes; it's bells echoed in the cavernous hall as it finished the quarter hour, then the half, another quarter, and finally the hour. After a brief pause, the gong struck once, twice, and three times. It went on through four, five, six, then seven times before she rolled out of the hammock and struggled to stand up straight.

With no windows in the Room of Requirement she couldn't be exactly sure the time was right, but her aching back told her it had to be close. It felt like every vertebrae had fused together, leaving her back in a permanent banana shape. She might never be able to sleep on a regular mattress again. Sharing Draco's satin covered feather bed for weeks had left her hopelessly addicted to the fineries of life. Wasn't it unusual, how we so quickly get spoiled with comfort while taking too long to adapt to adverse conditions.

Performing her best wandless magic, she managed to light a few candles. On the table was the bowl with a few cold chips, untouched from the night before. She crammed a couple into her mouth to quiet a growling stomach and looked around the room. Using the room only as a place to hide, she was clueless if there was a way out besides going through the portrait.

It was nearly an hour later when the portrait began to swing open. A head with red hair poked through the opening, but it wasn't Ron. It was Ginny. She had a paper bag in her hand and a vacuum bottle of coffee.

Inside, Hermione was delighted to see her but feared to show it. She didn't think she could take any more rejection from the Weasleys.

"Hermione!"

"Ginny – It's good to see you!"

"You too," said Ginny, gleaming. "Brought you some crumpets and coffee. It's not much but it's all we've got."

"It sounds heavenly," she said, and Ginny poured her coffee into the lid of the thermos.

"Thanks Gin." Hermione took a testing sip and cradled the cup in both hands.

"My pleasure," she said and plopped down in a chair beside her old friend.

"So what's in store for me Ginny – can you tell?"

"Look, Hermione. I don't know for sure, but sorry about yesterday. I didn't want to do that but they insisted we all come out with wands drawn."

"That's alright Ginny. I just hope they aren't blowing a good chance to work this thing out."

"I hope so too. I know they're trying to arrange a meeting with Draco. They sent him a note that you were safe but being held – or something to that effect."

Hermione leaned back and took a long slug of the coffee.

"If we could get Harry and Draco together – who knows? We might just end this damned thing."

"You think so?" Ginny asked suspiciously.

"Oh yeah. Draco doesn't want this war."

"Really? I thought he was their leader or something."

"He'd like you to think so... but no, not actually. They have a war council. Draco is more into providing finance for the war. His position is very influential, but he doesn't really want to continue fighting. Draco, like the rest of the Sacred Twenty-Eight only want out of this thing with no time in Azkaban and their properties and estates intact."

"Which brings up a curious point."

"What's that Ginny?"

"Draco and you – being cozy and all. I mean, I can understand you and Ron. Ron's a jerk and I don't know if he'll ever change. But Malfoy? Hermione, forgive me for saying so but you're not exactly a pureblood?"

Hermione laughed. "No I'm not, am I."

"No."

"Well, that's just it Ginny. Draco has changed – and for the better. Hell, the war has changed us all I think, and the Ministry no longer seeks blood superiority. That's not a part of their current mission statement. That was the old war – that was Voldemort before he died."

"Then, we do need them to talk, just Draco and Harry. They seem to be the only ones on either side with cool heads."

"That would be great Ginny. If only we could."

"You don't think then..."

Hermione shook her head. "We could try and talk to them. What kind of influence you have on Harry these days?"

"Oh, quite a bit – on some days, if you know what I mean," she said and laughed.

Hermione chuckled. "Yeah, like when he needs a little?"

Ginny bowed her head, hiding the laugh.

"It's so easy, leading them around by the todger." she replied at last.

"Exactly right – but I don't see how I can help from inside these walls," she said, looking over the cavernous expanse to demonstrate.

"Hermione," exclaimed Ginny.

"Yes Gin?"

"What if I get you out?" she said as proudly as if discovering fire.

"Oh Ginny... you wouldn't dare. What would they do?"

"Well, they can't question _my_ loyalty. I mean... I lost a brother. If I could get you out, then you've got to get to Draco and get him to meet with Harry."

"Oh, I don't know Ginny. I mean – I can try – but I don't know if he'll ever do it."

"We'll go with them to make sure. Even if we have to devise some kind of ruse."

"I guess, we could," said Hermione scratching her ear. "How will we ever coordinate this? Do you have access to the chapbooks?"

Ginny nodded. "No problem."

Hermione scrunched her brows. "Okay!" she said and rolled her shoulders in a shrug. "How do I get out out of here?"

"You won't be able to get through the tunnel. They're watching the other end. I'll have to get into the castle and try and find the right door."

Hermione nodded. "Okay Gin – let's go for it."

.

* * *

A/N: The vacation was good (and needed) but it's also good to be back! Didn't have time to answer any comments this time but a sincere thanks for all of those. :)

Till next time, earnest grats to: hoshiakari7, Kats02980416, ASJS, mega700201, CassieRenee333, Loopygirl1, and last but not least, LanaLee1.

As always a heartfelt thanks to all who, read, faved, or followed...


	26. Unexpected Guests

**.**

**'Strength and victory... What he would never praise himself for, but whose loss was his most obsessive fear.'  
― Simona Panova, _Nightmarish Sacrifice_**

**.**

**The Tower Window**

**.**

**26\. Unexpected Guests**

It was a reasonable plan, Hermione thought. But everything would be a total mess if they screwed it up. Already the snakes were writhing in her stomach. Five minutes, then ten minutes crawled by with no sign of Ginny. It was a full fifteen minutes later before the wall in the Room of Requirement began to rumble and then change into the opening they needed. It never seemed to occur in the same place twice.

With one last flurry of spinning and clacking stones, the doorway was complete. Standing in the doorway, Ginny motioned frantically for Hermione to hurry as she moved slowly toward the narrow opening. Ginny untangled a large ball of Gryffindor robes laying across her arms.

"Here," she said. "Put this on, it'll help us blend in, I hope."

Quickly, both witches pulled the robes over their heads and tidied their hair with a few hurried hand swipes.

"We've got to get out of here," Ginny whispered. "Professor Slughorn's class will be flooding the corridors any minute now."

"Lead the way girl."

Following a few paces behind Ginny, Hermione watched the ginger haired witch for any signs of trouble as she kept a safe distance. Only once did Ginny turn and put her hand out for Hermione to stop as heavy footsteps could be heard meandering down a bisecting corridor. They both laughed as it turned out to be a gaggle of over-sized fourth years.

In a matter of minutes they were out of the castle and standing on the perimeter of the school grounds. A few steps more and they could talk without whispering. The winding way to Hogsmeade was beginning just in front of them.

"We had best get some distance between us and the castle," Ginny announced and began moving toward Hogsmeade.

"Did you have any trouble getting away?" Hermione asked, matching her step for step.

"I thought they'd never run out of things for me to do; and Harry will be looking for you in a few minutes."

"Uh oh!"

"We should be free of any protection barriers once we're in Hogsmeade – you should disapparate quickly Hermione."

"I've been thinking of a place for us to meet."

"Yeah, where's that?"

"You know the private reading room in the back of Flourish and Blotts?"

"I think so – yeah."

"We'll be safe there I think."

"We should be able to stop here," Ginny said, looking around at the terrain. "Hermione, I couldn't find your wand – you'll have to use mine," the witch said and handed Hermione her wand.

"Oh no Ginny – I couldn't."

"Hermione, you'll have to. I'll bring your wand when we meet up. Flourish and Blotts should do just fine."

"Can you make it tomorrow?"

"I'll need a little more time to make peace with Harry."

"Two days?"

Ginny laughed. "Can you give me three?"

Hermione laughed. "Sure, but we'll have to set a time. Can you get an Owl through?"

"I wouldn't count on it. The Ministry is intercepting our Owls."

"Then we'll communicate via the chapbooks."

"I hope Harry goes for this. I know he'll be pissed when he finds out you're gone."

Hermione grinned. "Make it up to him – lay it on thick Gin."

Hermione and Ginny hugged tightly. Hermione broke it off and then backed away a few feet.

"Luv ya Gin."

"Luv ya Hermione."

Ginny watched her friend wave goodbye and then disappear in a flash of tangled light.

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

Draco had committed the sin of hope – hope that the war would finally end and a life of normalcy would once again prevail over the grounds and the manor. And happiness – he had even dared to hope for that too. But look what that tender emotion had cost him. It had skewed his judgment, and now he had lost something precious. Maybe more than he could bear. Now it was time to put tender thoughts away and steel his nerve for what lay ahead.

Now there would be more fighting and the loss of life and war wounds would continue to grow. But there would be no turning back. The Order had spit on their attempt to negotiate peace and now they would pay the price.

"Dinky!"

"Yes Master."

"Fetch my coat Dinky. I'm late for the meeting."

"Yes sir – right away sir." Dinky scampered away as fast as the over-sized elf feet would allow. They would finalize their plan at the War Council. They would make good on their plan to abduct Aberforth and initiate new attacks if a trade for Hermione could not be arranged in a timely fashion.

Dinky returned with Draco's greatcoat folded over his arms.

"Thank you Dinky. Please deliver any messages as soon as I return."

"Yes sir – of course sir."

With a dreariness that only war can evoke, Draco slithered into the coat and made slowly for the huge double doors of the manor. With only a wave of his hand, the two great oak dividers began to part obediently. It was only when they were full open that he raised his head to take in the sights of morning.

Like a lost dog on his doorstep, Hermione Granger stood there with a wistful expression. Draco stood there for a moment – as if he didn't trust his eyes with the apparition that stood before him.

"Granger?"

"Yes Draco – it's me."

The fact that she understood his doubt seemed to allay his fears. He rushed toward the witch and pulled her into his arms. He hugged and then ran his hands up and down. He buried his nose in the bushy hair and filled his lungs with her scent. It was like medicine to a sick soul.

"Are you cold?" he asked and pulled her toward the door.

"A little."

"Are you hungry?" he asked, once they were standing in the warmth of the foyer.

"Not really – well maybe a little."

"Dinky," he barked. "Have breakfast prepared immediately."

With a great smile Dinky nodded and scampered off with the sound of slapping feet.

By this time several house-elves were in the foyer to share the joy of Hermione's return. They were more than happy to help Draco and Hermione with their coats. Arm in arm and leaning into one another they strolled into the dining room. Already, there was a setting for both of them at he end of the great table and a kitchen elf assumed the role of a waiter to fill their cups with coffee.

"Hermione – you must tell me what happened. Did you escape?"

She had not yet thought of a story, but if she was to arrange a meeting she would have to invent one quickly.

"No – they let me go."

"Just like that?" asked Draco and raised a brow suspiciously.

"Yes. Just like that," she replied, pensively. "Well, they did question me quite a bit. They're a little sore I think. After all, they send me to kill you and now we're a couple. It doesn't sit well with them."

"No, I guess it wouldn't."

"But still – that's very unusual Hermione. They keep you like some villain overnight – and then just let you go in the morning. That's pretty bizarre if you ask me."

"Well, it wasn't that bad actually. Ginny and I stayed up talking for most of the time."

She was doing her best story telling now. If she could only make it feel like some overnight party between girls. Draco looked at her hard and then shook his head in bewilderment.

"Well," he exclaimed, dismissing her capture with the wave of a hand. "What did they say – they _did_ have some reason for holding you?"

"Yes, they did."

"Well..."

"Well what?"

"...the reason for holding you?"

"Oh, of course. I guess I'm a little tired. Sleeping in a hammock takes a little getting used to, I'll tell ya."

"I'm sure it does, but you were saying..."

"Oh yes – why they were holding me. Well, they never said. But I think they doubted my sanity. I mean, being with you and all."

With this, Draco let out a howl of disapproval.

"But you _must_ have talked about the war. What did they say about that?"

"They're ready to take the next step. We just have to figure out what that is."

"We had better figure fast Hermione. We were planning to abduct Aberforth Dumbledore in exchange for your release. Besides that, the War Council is meeting to draw up plans for the next battle."

"Oh Draco, no, no, no. There's no need for that – this close to peace – are you mental? We've made great progress here."

"Progress? What progress?"

"Look love," she said and reached for his hand. "Put aside any thoughts of abducting anyone. And drop the idea of gathering the War Council. We don't need it. Their side is much like ours. Some are ready to drop the whole thing, and we need to give them time to embrace that idea. Of course, like our side, some are not."

"Which ones?"

"Which ones? Are you serious – we don't need to worry about which ones. We need to give them time. And in the interim – we need a plan to get the coolest heads – and the smartest heads together."

Stopped with a reply in his lips, Draco froze as Dinky and helpers brought out a breakfast that was way over the top.

"Oh Dinky," said Hermione. "You shouldn't have. This is way too much."

"We are so pleased to have you back," replied Dinky as he filled Hermione's glass with pumpkin juice and her cup with coffee. For a few minutes they ate in silence, but Draco never took his eyes off Hermione. Even with a stunted appetite Hermione finished most of what Dinky piled on her plate along with the coffee and juice.

"That was delicious," she thanked Dinky.

"Didn't they feed you?" asked Draco.

"Draco, they don't have a lot. Besides I was eager to get back. I was afraid you would worry."

"We did," he quickly retorted. "So you mentioned cool and smart heads?"

"Yes, I did."

"For a meeting?"

"Exactly right."

"Is this your idea or theirs?"

"It was mutual," she quickly replied. Draco seemed interested. She felt the time and mood was right to feed him more.

"Would you like to know who we picked for the meeting?"

Draco furrowed his brows. "Who?"

"You and Harry!"

"Me and Potter – are you serious?"

"Of course I'm serious. We couldn't take a chance on getting more into the same room together. A fight would surely break out. No – it needs to be two cool heads."

"Who said Potter was a cool head?"

"He's mellowed out quite a bit Draco."

"I could never trust him," he said flatly. "He might just as well plan this whole thing to abduct me too."

Hermione paused and knocked back the rest of her pumpkin juice.

"Well," She went on. "I think you're being far too suspicious, but I'm willing to give it a rest. We can talk about it later."

"Fine with me," Draco chimed in.

Hermione looked over the remains of breakfast. The table looked like a battlefield. "That was very good," she said. "Didn't think I was hungry but I must have been."

"You'll put on weight Granger," he teased.

"I say we work it off later with a long walk."

"Later?"

"Yeah, right now I'm knackered and use a bit of a kip. You care to join me?"

"Just a wee rest huh?"

"Yeah, that should do it," replied Hermione and curled the corner of her mouth into a grin.

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

Draco and Hermione did take the nap, and like breakfast it turned out to be more valuable than expected. They followed that up with Hermione's suggestion of a walk about the grounds. Walking further than normal, they found themselves at the rear property line. There was a large stream there that defined the estate boundary. It was the same place Draco had stopped to tell the story of Septimus Malfoy. Hermione paused there to study the beauty of water flowing over rocks when something on the ground caught her eye.

"Draco, you need to look at this."

"What is it?" he asked and ambled back her way.

"What do you make of this?" she asked and pointed to large animal tracks. Draco stiffened.

"They're Werewolf tracks – no doubt about it."

"Then, they've returned?"

"Or never left. They could be coming from some close by farm. Who knows."

"Are we past the full moon now?"

"Who knows. I'll send out hunters to make sure they don't come back. They're not welcome At Malfoy Manor. I can tell you that."

Nothing more was said of the Werewolves until dinner that night. As always, Draco was wearing coat and tie and Hermione was attired in a sleek dinner gown. She was so used to this ritual now, it barely struck her as unusual unless she thought hard and long about it.

"You know – I've had a thought about the Werewolves."

Draco looked at her as though he wasn't particularly fond of entering the topic again.

"Yeah, and what's that?"

"They know me – I'm not completely sure why I feel that way, but I do."

"It's probably different Werewolves," said Draco sourly.

"Do you really think that?"

Draco rolled his shoulders into a shrug. "No. I guess not – but I wouldn't worry about it. It's just your imagination. It's probably just that thing with Remus Lupin when you were young. Try and forget it Hermione."

"I don't forget that easily Draco."

"No – you don't. Are you always this adamant about everything."

"What am I adamant about?"

"I don't know – what did Potter say about the Werewolves?"

Hermione almost choked on a sip of wine.

"Why – Harry never said anything about Werewolves. I mean, how could he..."

Draco shook his head, but didn't reply. There was something going on here. It was something he didn't want to tell. Something that involved Harry. He fixed his gaze on Hermione but still didn't answer.

"Does this have anything to do with your reluctance to talk to Harry?"

"No, of course not," he finally replied.

"Well, I'll tell you the truth – if you'll tell me."

"You first."

"Ginny and I decided on this course of action. The Order members don't know anything about it. We just thought it would just be better if you two sat down together."

"So that's it. That's your big secret?"

"I suppose so. And what's yours?"

"I've got no secret."

"But you said..."

Draco raised his hand.

"Okay, okay – I'll talk to Potter."

"That's great, but you're not going to tell me about the Werewolves?"

"Granger – can you do two things for me?"

"What?"

"One: can you drop the Werewolf talk?"

She nodded and paused with her lips tightly shut.

"Okay," she said at length. "And what's the other?"

"Can you come here and give me a fuck'n kiss?"

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

Draco never got that kiss – at least not until much later. But by morning things had cooled to point where kissing was back in business. As Hermione dressed for a casual day at Diagon Alley, she noticed Draco had already gone down for breakfast. There had been no Owls from Ginny as to the time of their meeting, She would have to try the chapbook.

Quickly, she penned a note in the chapbook to Ginny:

'Can we meet at noon?'

The question was so obscure, she left out the code-word. No one but Ginny would have any idea what she was talking about anyway. Clipping her hair and dabbing on a touch of makeup, she grabbed up the chapbook and put it under her arm. She could pretend to read while waiting for breakfast. She wouldn't be able to discuss their meeting until Ginny answered. It was a damned troubling detail, but necessary if she wanted to keep the chapbooks spell a secret.

Draco was already half-way through breakfast when she pulled up a chair to the table.

"Are we in a hurry this morning," she said and opened her book.

"As a matter of fact, yes. I have to run to the Ministry. What time was our meeting?"

She had intended to stall. Now she needed something fast.

"Let's see, I've got the time written down in here somewhere," she said and thumbed the pages of the chapbook.

"You're business at the Ministry – how long will it take?"

"An hour or two so I suppose."

Hermione went back to the page she had written the note in. She could see Ginny's reply forming as she wrote it.

'Okay, back of Flourish and Blott's at noon.'

"Oh, now I remember," she pretended to remember. 'It's at noon. Can you make it at noon?

Draco looked at her sideways.

"Okay," he said and shrugged. "Can you tell me where to meet?"

Hermione canted her head. "Oh sorry – that's not part of the arrangement. I'll meet you at the base of the Ministry building at ten till."

Draco shook his head. It appeared as if the whole thing was nothing but a bother.

"Alright then – ten till."

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

Hermione stood shivering in the cool shadows of Whitehall. She always thought it odd that a Muggle government building housed the Ministry of Magic in it's underground chambers. It was now five minutes until the hour, and Draco was late. His departure for his unannounced meeting had been a bit unusual and she was getting a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Draco wouldn't be planning anything nefarious, she assuaged herself. After all, she had grown to trust the wizard hunk and treachery would seem most out of character.

Finally a blonde head popped out of the crowd, and she immediately began to relax.

"Sorry love," he began and kissed her cheek. "Are you cold?"

"I'm fine but we better hurry."

Quickly departing the shadows of Whitehall, Hermione and Draco ducked into a nearby alley to facilitate disapparition to Flourish and Blotts. Still without a clue where they were headed, Draco held Hermione's hand to find himself dropping into an back-alley wind of which he was barely more familiar.

With Draco's hand still in her own, she pulled the wizard into the light of familiar surroundings.

"Diagon Alley, heh?"

"Yes, and we're late."

Still pulling the wizard by the arm, Hermione led Draco to Flourish and Blotts. Once inside, it took their eyes a moment to adjust to softer and subdued lighting.

"It's back here," she said. Draco tentatively followed the witch through shelves stocked high with books, and around crookedly arranged tomes piled in a way only magic could manage.

The backroom Hermione suggested wasn't known to just anyone. Being a regular customer, the shopkeepers allowed her access whenever available. Sometimes it was reserved for special events like the Gilderoy Lockhart book signing that occurred in her second year.

With her hand on the doorknob, Hermione looked back at Draco, took a deep breath, and pulled the door open.

"Hello Hermione," Ginny greeted as they popped in.

"Hello Gin – sorry we're late."

"Hey, no problem. Have a seat please." said Ginny, beaming. Harry and Ginny were looking fresh and cozy. An attractive couple if not a little thin from the ravages of war.

There was neither a word nor a grunt from Draco or Harry. Hermione guessed that Harry might be still peeved about her escape. Draco prowled about the room as if looking for hidden escapes or entrances.

"It's clean," said Harry, breaking an uncomfortable moment of silence between the two.

"Good," Draco replied and plopped down into a chair. "Who called this meeting?" he quipped.

"The girls did," Harry fired back.

"Okay, girls. What's the agenda?"

"We all know why we're here," began Hermione. "And there's no sense in being coy about it. You two," she said and pointed with both hand, "need to get your heads together and find a way to end this war."

"We've made our desiderata very clear. Did Hermione fail to communicate those?" Draco asked in an oily voice.

"Yes, quite clear. You want an end to the war – but with nothing settled? Is that right?" Harry added.

"We want – willing to accept peace – an end to the war. And I don't believe, for a minute Potter, your side is willing to cooperate."

"Then why did you come?" demanded Harry.

Draco paused but didn't immediately answer.

"You've tried to hide it Hermione, but you're not carrying your own wand. I noticed it the other day on our walk. And if memory of our school days still serves me, I'd say that's Ginny's wand. Weasley wands were always a little easy to recognize."

Harry shifted his weight in the chair nervously.

"Hands above the table Potter," barked Draco and then pulled his own wand, hidden up his sleeve.

"Draco!" cried Hermione. "What's the meaning of this?"

"It's called turning the tables."

"What are you playing at Malfoy?"

"The Order never agreed to let Hermione go. Ginny let her go after the two of you cooked this deal up. Well, now Potter, we'll offer you the same arrangement."

"Draco are you mental?" wailed Hermione. You can't do this. I won't go along with it. It's three against one here."

"You'd turn against me love?"

"I would have to Draco. I've given my word here."

Draco smiled a thin cruel smile.

"Then I won't tempt you to do that," he answered. "Come _in_ gentlemen."

At that moment the door opened and the room filled with members of Ministry War Council.

"Hermione!" cried Ginny. "Did you tell him!?"

"No Ginny – I didn't. Draco, how did you know?"

"Hermione had no part in this," Draco announced firmly. "I'm sorry to tell you – but we've been intercepting the messages in the chapbooks for some time. Come on Hermione. I discovered the secret of your communicating coins years ago and the books were all too similar. We had to know if you were on our side."

"Thanks for the trust Draco."

"Again – I'm sorry."

"So just what do you have in mind Malfoy - an execution perhaps?" asked Harry.

"No, no. Nothing like that Potter. Nothing like that at all," assuaged Draco and made a show of peace by stowing his wand. "For too long now we've been continuing this war on your terms. The Order will change it's position if they ever want Potter back. Ginny you're free to go."

"I'll stay with him," she fired back, and grabbed for Harry's arm.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible," clarified Draco. "Only Potter."

"Draco – I quite frankly wouldn't have thought you capable of such a heinous act."

"You've wanted an end to the war Hermione. Now you have a real chance to get it. Our goals are the same, only our methods are different."

"You haven't changed at all Malfoy," growled Harry.

"Sorry Potter. But in time I think you'll see that I have changed," Draco fired back, as he rose from the chair. "Remember Ginny – draw up new terms – with no conditions, and we'll bring an end to this fighting."

"It was all different when you thought you had a chance to win," said Harry with bile in his voice.

"Yes, but our goals have remained unchanged Potter. We just wanted out without your noble notions of justice hanging over our heads."

"Well, good luck with that Malfoy, but the Order will never agree."

"Oh, I think they will. Come along Hermione – let's go home."

"I won't be going back to Malfoy Manor with you Draco. Not this time."

Draco stiffened and paused for a few moments.

"Well," he began. "Until the war is technically over – I'm afraid you'll have to," he said and reached for her hand. "Come along gentlemen – take our prisoner to the Ministry and give Miss Weasley a free passage back to her side."

.

* * *

**A/N:** For all those who wished to see Draco back 'in-character', well I hope this suffices.

As usual, a huge thanks for the comments from Chester99, hoshiakari7, Kats02980416, ElizaLane, LanaLee1, and BeautifulGray. And whopping gratuities go out to all who read, faved, or followed. :)


	27. A New Return

**'You must learn to know the difference between tales and the truth, my Liza, she would say. Fairy tales have a habit of ending too soon. They never show what happens afterwards when the prince and princess ride off the page.'**

**– Kate Morton, The Forgotten Garden **

**.**

**The Tower Window**

**.**

**27\. A New Return**

With reluctance, and only to facilitate disapparation, Hermione allowed Draco to take her hand. They arrived moments later before the prodigious gates of Malfoy Manor. As soon as she felt her feet under her, Hermione pulled her hand from Draco's as if it were pestilent. Rancorously, and without another word she remained at his side as they crunched along the gravel path to the twin double front doors.

Puzzled house-elves greeted the reticent pair and took their coats in the foyer. They continued on in bitter silence until the stairs to their bedroom besought an immediate decision.

"If you could make the tower room ready please," implored Hermione.

Draco looked around, like he was searching for an answer in the walls of the Manor.

"Look Hermione – in time..." he stumbled over the words. "...can we discuss this over tea or coffee?"

"There's nothing to discuss Draco. I'm a prisoner here and I'll return to the tower… and I won't get my true status around here mixed up or turned around again."

"Hermione..."

"Let's drop it Draco."

Draco stood there for some time.

"I'll bring Daisy," he said and disappeared.

It was several days later before Hermione's anger began to dissipate. It was immediately replaced with fear and concern over Harry. Was he alright? Draco said he wouldn't be hurt, but then Draco had lied about the meeting and there was no question about that. Surely they wouldn't torture him, she assuaged herself, but the worry and torment were unrelenting.

Sitting by the tower window until she could pacify herself no longer, Hermione finally gave way to doubt and concern. This whole mess was her fault and she could no longer deny it. She didn't know whether to cry or scream. She would do neither – she would seek an audience with the master of the house and demand an answer.

She set out at once to find Daisy. Daisy could locate Alfred and obtain the whereabouts of Malfoy. Not verbally constrained to any one room in the manor, Hermione's self imposed punishment seemed fitting nonetheless. Daisy was back working under the supervision of Griselda along the Northeast corridor. Since Hermione had quit working for the evil hag of a house-elf, she had seen her only once.

Stopping at every room in the corridor, Hermione poked her nose in several doors until she nearly ran over Griselda coming out one of the bedrooms.

"What do you want?" demanded the old crow.

"I'm looking for Daisy," replied Hermione with as much authority as she could muster.

"She's busy – so go away," barked the hag.

"Daisy is my personal assistant – you bring her here at once."

"I will do no such thing." insisted Griselda.

Hermione put her index finger an inch from Griselda's large fleshy nose. It was a standoff and Hermione could do nothing but bluff her way through it as her wand was still missing.

"Look..." began Hermione, and Griselda's ears began to wiggle. She was obviously conflicted. No doubt the nasty house-elf would love to hex Hermione at this very moment but didn't want to start a fight she might lose.

"Miss Hermione!"

Hermione snapped around to see Daisy coming to her assistance.

"Daisy is right here Miss," announced Daisy and ran up to Hermione's side to face Griselda.

"Let's go Daisy – we have an errand to run."

With that, Hermione put her hand on Daisy's shoulder and led the elf away from Griselda.

"The master will hear of this," barked the hag.

"Yes he will," snapped Hermione.

Soon they were safely out of the corridor and down the few remaining stairs to the ground level.

"What errand is you needing Miss?"

"I'll need you to find Alfred for me. And I'll need Alfred to locate Mal... Mister Draco."

Daisy looked back at Hermione, totally befuddled. She understood none of the difficulties between the master of the house and her mistress.

"Yes Miss Hermione."

Soon they were in the main living quarters of the house. Hermione waited as Daisy scampered off to locate Alfred. It was several minutes before she heard footsteps with long strides entering the corridor. It was Draco with Daisy nervously in tow.

"Hermione – I've been meaning to stop by – how are you?" began Malfoy in a voice suffused with softness.

_Meaning to stop by? How phony was that?_

"I need to talk."

"Certainly," he popped back. "Have you eaten – would you like to talk over breakfast?"

_Would you like to talk over breakfast? He knew damned well she was back to half rations. _

"No. Thank you – I'm not hungry."

"Fine. We can talk in the reading room," he said and led the way. "I'll have coffee and teacakes brought in."

His slick and polished attempts to mollify just made things worse, she thought. They made the walk down the long corridor in glaring silence. She could feel herself growing angry.

"Look Malfoy – we can talk right here if you like – I just need to ask a few questions about Harry."

"Please Hermione – we're almost there."

With that he pulled open the huge door to the reading room. The room was bathed in morning light from so many windows and skylights. She normally loved to gawk at this room, but there was no time to dwell on or bask in refinements this morning.

"I want to know about Harry. What have you done with my best friend?"

Draco pulled his brows together tightly.

"I didn't know you two were still that tight." he replied and escorted her to a seat.

Hermione fell down in the chair. "Look – Draco – can you answer my question or what?"

He raised a hand in defense. "Look Hermione – just chill. Potter's fine. He's just fine."

"You'll forgive me if I have trouble believing that."

"Hermione – you're angry."

"Of course I am. And I have no desire to be betrayed again."

A house-elf that worked with Dinky wheeled in a cart with the coffee and the teacakes. As he poured the coffee the smell of fresh baked and buttered teacakes wafted her way.

"I'm sorry you were involved in this bit of business Hermione," he began. "I wish I could have found another way, but I can assure you – I didn't wish to betray you or damage our relationship – I really didn't."

Now Hermione raised a hand. "Spare me Draco. Spare me this bit of bullshit. All I need to know is how my friend is being treated."

Now, the smell of teacakes were overwhelming. Her breakfast this morning had consisted of only a cup of thin soup. She instinctively grabbed a teacake and began scarfing it down.

"He's fine. We can talk to him if you like. Look Granger, I saw a chance to end the war and took it."

Hermione eyed the wizard suspiciously. She washed the mouthful down with coffee and swallowed hard.

"And you made me look like the fool in doing so – look, when can we go see Harry"

"Whenever you like. The sooner you get these bad feelings out of your system the better."

"Knowing Harry is treated well will help Draco. But that won't get all the 'bad feelings' out of my system."

Draco paused to study the witch.

"I know it will take a while to straighten out your feelings, but I believe this thing will have a happy ending. And please understand, I couldn't just let you go Hermione. Wars don't end with just the flick of a switch. We'll both have to be careful for some time to come."

"Well, thanks dad. But I really don't think it was your decision."

"Your right it wasn't. But I do worry about you Granger, and after all the trouble it's taken for us to get here. I didn't want to see it get all fucked up by a rash decision."

Hermione laughed out loud – almost spitting up a mouthful of coffee.

"Are you kidding – you're the one who made the rash decision Draco. And if you really cared for me you wouldn't have done what you did."

Frustrated, Draco bounced up out of his chair and went to the witch. He picked her up out of the chair. They were face to face – nose to nose.

"Look Granger, I don't control everything on our side of the war. It's still dangerous out there. There's pent up resentment on both sides and will be for years. I couldn't bear it if a Hard-liner took you out. There's some that would take me out if they could catch me in the right place. I want to give us the time we need to get over this – that's all."

"Draco – I think I've seen enough. There's no need for more 'time'."

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

He watched the witch walk away. She was beautiful when pissed and had to be the hardest witch he had ever known. Not even his mother could be this stubborn and head-strong. And Astoria – she was nothing but a pale flower compared to Hermione. But the memories were not all kind. He had hated her in his second year, but his childish dislike quickly turned into respect. Now, respect had grown into love, but he sensed it was a love that would never be easy.

This move to capture Potter might be his undoing. If he didn't play it carefully all his plans for the future might vanish. But he had to find a way to quickly end the war. He could clearly see – if Hermione couldn't, that the two sides would never just lay down their wands and agree to quit fighting. When the Order was weak and about to go under he could never have talked his side into quitting. But now, with Durmstrang pulling their support, the opposite was true. The Ministry was tired and the Order was growing greedy for a total victory. That possibility was unimaginable for his side.

Now, if the Order continued to fight it would cost them something dear. They could not achieve victory with their leader held captive. That was assured. This move would buy the Ministry time. Time to find new fighters – time to repair relations with the Durmstrangs. Even the hot-headed Order would be forced to see that further fighting could win them nothing without sacrificing Potter. And what about sanctimonious Potter? He would, for the time being at least, make sure Potter was safe and sound.

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

It was several days later before Hermione and Draco found themselves on civil terms again. Every day he took the witch to the Ministry to check on Potter's condition. And every day she was able to see that Draco had made good on his promise to keep her friend safe.

Still without the chapbooks or her wand, Draco made sure she lacked for nothing else. Every possible convenience was made available to her in order to appease. She was almost getting sick of it. She still slept in the tower and refused to attend the over-the-top dinners. She refused and would continue to refuse showcasing her goods in the scant evening gowns. As a weak compromise, they took dinner in casual dress in the sitting room.

They were having coffee one morning in the reading room; it appeared to be the beginning of an average day like any other. Draco had his head in the _Daily Prophet_ and Hermione was skimming though one of the many tomes that lined the walls of the room. The door crashed open and Dinkens stood there holding a signed and sealed message.

"What is it Dinkens?" demanded Draco.

"A message from the Ministry sir!"

"Let me see that," ordered Draco.

* * *

Draco,

This just came in this morning – the Order calls it quits!

Suggest a meeting at earliest convenience to sign the agreement.

They will bring five members, and with Potter's signature the

war is over and their half of the new Wizard's Council is in place.

Your servant,

Richard Fawley.

* * *

"What is it Draco?"

"It's a note from Fawley. The Order..."

"The Order what?"

"They're ready to sign the agreement – to end the war," he said with a factual tone that lacked any emotion. Hermione studied his reaction curiously.

"Well, that's great isn't it – the war's over," beamed Hermione.

Draco nodded while staring at the note.

"And you got what you wanted!" she went on.

Draco glared at Hermione unconvincingly.

"Yes," he replied flatly. "And I'd best be off to the Ministry. We wouldn't want to keep the Order waiting would we."

Having found a book to her liking, Hermione stayed glued to a comfortable Chesterfield in the reading room. Draco popped back in for only a moment. Looking like he was ready to make a day of it, he was dressed in his midnight blue greatcoat with a hat and gloves.

"Well, I'm off," he announced. "Have the elves bring you anything you want. Hopefully this won't take all day."

"Good Luck… and come back wearing a Garland!" she encouraged and went back to the book.

Natural light from overhead windows had long given out before Hermione heard the familiar footsteps of Draco's return. He stood there, still in the greatcoat, with a house-elf behind him, eager waiting to take the hat and coat. Pulling an evening edition of the Daily Prophet of his coat pocket, he tossed it into Hermione's lap. The headline simply read:

* * *

**Wizarding War is Over**

**Armistice signed at three o'clock today.**

Amid a cease-fire today, both sides met at the Ministry and agreed to lay down wands and end the war. The unconditional end of Hostilities will be made official at the first meeting of the newly formed Wizards Council.

The new council will be composed of...

* * *

"Can you believe it?"

"No, but I'm trying?"

"All day. It took them all day arguing about nothing. I mean, how many conditions can you put on unconditional."

"Sure Draco, but it's a bit different for some. You get to keep all this," she said, and waved her arms to demonstrate. "But for others, I'm sure this whole thing feels like an empty waste."

"For sure Hermione – that's what war is – an empty waste."

"You're right, it is. Still, it's not any easier to swallow."

Draco turned to Hermione.

"And you? What will you make of it, the end of all of this – I guess you'll be leaving."

Hermione balked – frozen by the question. Searching her heart for an answer produced nothing. This incident between them over the last few weeks had somehow changed things. The fire that had burned brightly inside her heart was now cold. Were there any embers left? Could they be re-ignited? She could find no clue.

"I suppose – I would like to exercise that right."

"You know I'll never give up on you."

Hermione smiled inwardly but said nothing.

"You know, it's nearly spring. I mean, you'd never know it today, but it's close. There's a world outside these walls and I'd like to get back into it again."

"You'll be leaving then."

"Tomorrow morning."

Holding his face in his hands Draco said nothing.

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

Saying goodbye to a gaggle of tearful house-elves, Hermione stepped into the morning sun outside Malfoy Manor. Wearing the moth eaten frock she arrived with, she held tightly onto her ancient valise in one hand and her wand in the other. With the sun warming her face, freedom felt wonderful, and she was quite ready to go. There _was_ one remaining question: would she look back? Would she be compelled to take one last look at Malfoy Manor before disapparating to her tiny London flat?

It was time to look only forward, she decided. With that she concentrated only on her destination and disappeared with a zip and a pop.

Safely entering the alley behind her flat, Hermione stepped carefully to avoid the rubbish bins and moved toward the front of the complex. At the front door, she went through a brief show of looking for a key and finding none. With a quick look around for any sign of Muggles, she then conjured a silent _Alo__ho__mora_.

And there she was, home – finally, after all this time, she was in her own home. It wasn't much but it felt great to be back. She lit a fire with what little coal was left in the scuttle.

Falling into the only furniture she had, a worn leather reading chair, she kicked her feet up on a stool and sat there for some time, just soaking in the feeling. She tried to cheer herself with pleasant thoughts. In a day or so she'd have to pay a visit to the Burrow and find Crookshanks. Ginny said he'd been running around free in the Burrow for so long he was nearly wild.

After a quick look around, everything seemed just as she'd left it except for a new layer of dust. There were a few tins of food in the cupboard and a bottle of soured milk in the fridge. She would have to go shopping – but with what? If she went into Diagon Alley she could do her shopping on credit. In time, she would have to get wizarding gold transferred into Muggle funds, but for now she was out.

And how much wizarding gold was left? It wasn't much. For most of the war she had been gone on assignment and never stayed at home. All this time the flat sat empty while soaking up her savings. Her parents had saved money to send her to a Muggle University, but it was nearly gone.

Practical thoughts turned to pensive musings. Now that the war was over the next bit of business would be finding a job. But she had no idea what she could do. Perhaps she could land a position at the new Ministry as a spy. She could see her CV title now: _Accomplished Spy Fucker_. She could even list the victims!

Hermione wiped a tear from her eye with the sleeve of her frock. She had all too quickly come to realize her life was a miserable wreck.

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

Draco Malfoy sipped a cup of coffee in the reading room and mused over his situation silently. He was tired – damned tired of sitting around and feeling sorry for himself. The war was over and he should be going out with friends to celebrate. Twice they had invited him and twice he had turned down the offer. Well – damnit – no more! He would go out to a party tonight.

He was damned tired of Granger! All of her bullshite – he was so sick of it. After all, he was Draco Lucius Malfoy. And now that the war was over he could have anything he wanted. How dare she act the way she did. If he had done things her way they would still be hopelessly dead-locked in war and she would still be... here…

Well, no matter. She was gone, and tonight he would go out. He needed to shower, shave, and get ready. Yes, he needed to clean up and get ready and go out.

Yes… he would do that… just as soon as he found the energy to get out his chair.

"Mister Draco," croaked an elf.

"Yes Dinkins."

"We have a caller at the door."

"Show him in then."

The elf scampered off to return with audible footsteps in tow. And from the sound of those footsteps his visitor was no 'he' unless 'he' was wearing high-heels.

"Hello Draco."

Draco dragged himself from the chair.

"Hello Pansy. Come in," he said and motioned invitingly. "Coffee?"

"No thanks. Where have you been Draco. Everyone has been asking about you."

"I've been here," he said and rubbed two day old stubble.

"It looks like it – and here alone I take it. What happened to Granger?"

"She's gone."

"I can see that, but where?"

Draco waved his arms. "Who knows. Back home I suppose – maybe back to Weasley for all I know."

"Oh Draco – she'd never go back to him."

"And how do you know that?"

"Because she cared for you Draco. I could see it in her eyes."

"Well, if she did she doesn't now. She's gone I tell you."

Pansy shook her head.

"I just came by to check on you and tell you Nott is having a Do tonight. You ought to come."

"I will," he said and stepped a little closer to his caller. "And you're looking good today," he added.

Pansy studied on his comment for some time.

"Thanks," she said at length. "I wish I could say the same of you."

"Yeah, I could use some cleaning up," he replied and rubbed the chin stubble.

"Why don't you man up and go find her. You've been sitting here for days Draco."

Draco puffed up in anger and then collapsed like an empty balloon.

"Because she was wrong – and she acted like an arse."

Pansy paused again, this time longer. "Sounds like a childish argument."

Draco nodded in defeat. "Maybe so, but I'm afraid she's had enough."

Pansy smiled, obviously seeing something that Draco could not.

"Well, I hope to see you tonight."

"I'll be there," he said and smile unevenly.

"And bring Granger!"

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

With a fresh scuttle of coal, Hermione settled in for a weekend of reading. It looked as though the old Hermione was back to stay. Old and familiar patterns of life were hard to shake. She'd tried life in the fast lane and look what it bought her.

And to hell with men. She'd had about enough of them too. These and more angry thoughts were spinning around her head just as the familiar sound of apparition could be heard just outside her door.

Impossible, she thought. All her friends would be out celebrating. It must be her imagination.

_Knock, Knock, Knock_, came three raps on her door with the metal end of a cane.

_Who the hell would that be? It couldn't be? _

She grabbed her wand and cracked open the door.

"Evening Granger."

"Draco? What are you doing here?"

"Can I come in?"

Hermione stalled on the question.

"Why Draco?"

"Damnit Granger – you know why – I need to talk. Now let me in."

Hermione grimaced but removed the chain and opened the door. Draco slipped in immediately.

"Look Draco, I don't know what there is to talk about. And besides I wasn't expecting company; I look like shit."

Draco looked the witch over but came up short on words.

"So what did you want to say?" she continued.

Quickly, arms shot out to snake around the witch. Then he shocked her again with a long hard kiss. Angry or no, tongues instinctively played. The pair finally parted to come up for air.

"What in the hell?" she protested.

"I love you. I know I made a mistake. But I won't do it again," he pleaded.

"I can't trust you Draco," she insisted.

"I know – I have a problem with that – but you'll have the rest of your life to correct me."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I want to marry you Granger – I want you as my wife – you understand? So please, will you just grab your things."

Hermione stood there dumbstruck and unable to breath a word.

"Come on Granger – let's go home," he coaxed softly.

Hermione shook the blood back into her head. She looked toward heaven for advice but found none.

"Can you give me a minute?"

:

A/N: Ah, come on – you didn't think they'd stay apart forever? :)

Thanks so much for the comments from Kats02980416, Chester99, hoshiakari7, LanaLee1, BeautifulGray, no, and Guest. As usual, the deepest grats to all who read, followed, or faved.


	28. Peace Times

**"There was one thing that stood like stone among the music and moonfroth of the evening's gaieties. It was stupid, it was terrifying, it was wonderful, but it had happened and I could do nothing about it. For better or worse, I was head over ears in love..."  
― Mary Stewart, ****_Nine Coaches Waiting_**

**.**

**The Tower Window**

**.**

**28\. Peace Times**

Willingly this time, Hermione gave her hand to Draco Malfoy for magical travel. From the narrow confines behind her flat they disapparated to resume corporeal form in front of the welcoming gates of Malfoy Manor.

Hermione had tried freedom, as _she_ had called it, for the shortest of times, and found it wasn't what it was cracked up to be. Okay, maybe she _was_ wooed off her feet by the blonde headed wizard. Either way, things just felt better now. If he really did care for her – if he really did want her hand, then he definitely merited another try.

After a few days to reflect, she came to see the future and forget the past. There were post-war parties and celebrations everywhere and the issues of those last few days, before the war ended, were never mentioned again. After all, they had no place in happy times.

She and Draco would start over, so to speak. She would continue to spend her nights in the tower bedroom. As mental as it sounded, it just felt right. But when she told this to Pansy, the Slytherin witch could make no sense of it at all.

"That doesn't mean I spend every night in the tower," Hermione went on to explain with a grin. "It just feels safer this way. A little distance between us reminds Draco not to pull the shit he did before."

"Well," replied Pansy and curled the corner of her mouth into a grin. "Let me know how that works out."

"I will," replied Hermione and smiled. "And by the way – I should thank you, I suppose."

"Yeah, and why's that Granger?"

"Draco said you lent into him and told him to man up."

"That was easy. He was dragging and moping about. I just told him to get off his arse."

Hermione smiled a private smile.

"Do you love him Granger, or is that too personal to ask?"

"For sure. Sometimes I don't understand why, but I do. But as soon as I left – you know – I knew."

Pansy shook her head. "Granger – you're too hard to figure, so I won't try."

"It's not what Draco did that was all that bad. I just felt like I wandered into his nefarious plan as blindly as his victims; and now we're having a little problem with trust."

"Trust heh?"

"I'm sure it'll mend," explained Hermione.

"I hope so. He'll need it now more than ever."

"Why's that?"

"You haven't heard?"

"Heard what?"

"Our side is pushing to elect him Minister for Magic."

"You're not serious – Draco hasn't told me this."

Pansy pulled a face. "Maybe because you don't sleep with him?"

"That's nonsense. Are you sure Draco wants this – and I do sleep with him."

"I haven't talked to him about it. I'll leave that up to you, but I do know our side wants it. You may hate him for what he did, but our side thinks he's a God for ending the war."

"You say that like I'm not on your side," Hermione objected.

"Not at all – it's because we'll need your help Granger."

"My Help? How can _I_ help?"

"It's the Wizards Council. The Order will surely have a person of their own – we think maybe Potter, but we don't know. Anyway, we just thought you might be able to use some of your influence with them and sway the vote."

"Are you mental!? They'll never listen to me again. I arranged a meeting, and Harry was abducted – remember."

"Oh, don't be so hard on yourself. Potter was treated like he was in a five star hotel – and the whole thing worked out Granger."

"Still, they'll never..."

"Well, you'll have to try. Otherwise the whole thing becomes a nasty deadlock and could go on forever."

"That would be a mess, wouldn't it. Since the war dragged on for so long we need an immediate decision. I'll never know why they went back to a Wizard's Council."

"There wasn't enough wizards to re-form the Wizengamot?"

"Well, for sure, but it didn't have to be as big as the original."

"Either way – you see my point."

"Yes I do, and I'll speak with Draco about it."

"...oh and one more thing."

"Yeah, what's that?"

"You must have a welcoming do. Post war parties have become all the rage."

Hermione grimaced. "Oh, I don't know Pansy. The last one we put on didn't go over so well."

"I thought it was fine."

"Well, maybe for you..."

"Lighten up Granger. You simply must host a do. We'll have a contest – to see who can wear the most outrageous evening gown. It should be fun."

Hermione laughed. "I heard about some of these post-war parties. They're pretty wild, but you see Draco and I are content to have a quiet night at home."

"You see, there you go. Now that's the bookworm I knew from Hogwarts."

Hermione hid her face and laughed. "I know you're right, but I'm just not feeling it."

"But, he'll need extra exposure – now that he's a candidate for Minister. And besides, don't be so sure Draco prefers a 'quiet' night at home. Remember – I knew him before you did."

Hermione rolled her eyes at the remark.

"Well, I think we're getting a little ahead of ourselves. First I'll talk to Draco about all of this. I'm still wondering why he didn't mention it."

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

Pansy's story had worn on her until she finally had a chance to speak with Draco over dinner. Arriving early, she waited impatiently for Alfred to escort her to the dining room. She was on the second glass of wine before Draco ambled in.

He slipped in around her and kissed her on the cheek.

"You're looking good," he began.

"Thanks. I don't believe I've worn this one before – found it in the back of the wardrobe," she said, referring to the shimmering royal blue gown she was wearing.

"It's hot!" he said and grabbed a glass of port and studied every inch of Hermione in the gown. "And how was your day?"

"Fine, Pansy stopped in for a while."

"And how's she getting on."

"Why didn't you tell me you're being considered for Minister for Magic!?" she asked, ignoring Pansy.

Draco looked caught. "Oh, I don't know."

"Oh come on. I can't believe you didn't tell me that."

"I'm not sure if I want the job."

"Why not?" asked Hermione as her excitement fell down a notch.

"It's a big job Hermione – maybe too big – not to mention the time I'll be away."

Hermione did her best to appear perplexed.

"It wouldn't be forever."

"You'd never get to see me," he fired back.

"Not if you get _me_ a job in the Ministry!"

"I knew you'd say that – I knew you'd push me to take the job.

Hermione sat her wine glass down. "No – I won't do that Draco. It's an important decision for you alone. I won't deny that I'd love to see you as Minister, but I won't push you to do something contrary to your wishes."

"That's very considerate of you Granger."

Hermione paused to consider Draco's emotionless reaction.

"Well, I also heard Harry is being considered. I guess it would be a kick in the arse after bringing an end to the war the way you did – to see Potter win the Minister job away."

This provoked a reaction form the cotton topped wizard.

"Granger – just _what_ are you doing?"

"Nothing – just merely relating the facts."

"Then I must thank Pansy for keeping you so well informed."

"That's easy because I'm normally in the dark," she admitted. "I also hear the post-war celebrations are almost out of hand."

"Yes – are you suggesting we attend one?"

"No – that we should host one!"

"Are you serious?"

"It might be good for both of us. And if you do decide to run for Minister for Magic – well, it will help bring in the other side."

"So, we'll be inviting the other side?"

"I think we should Draco. And I'll work on your behalf."

Draco buried his brow in his hands.

"I knew when you found out I'd never hear the end of it."

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

Draco had, at the last minute, put his name on the ticket. As was expected, it was Harry that opposed him. It seemed these two wizards would be forever juxtaposed.

With the election only a few weeks away, the welcoming do Hermione had planned was in jeopardy. Finding a free weekend when none of their friends were already engaged was almost impossible. As it turned out, the party would provide little help in Draco's campaign effort.

Over dinner one night, Draco would make their engagement official. On her finger, he placed a diamond the size of an almond. He explained it was made ready just in time for the party.

Draco had said, that day at her flat, that he wanted her as a wife, but still somehow, she failed to believe it. The ring made a thousand new thoughts and worries spin through her head. How would the guests react? She didn't want her engagement to supersede Draco's campaign effort.

Instantly her worries about how she would look in the wedding dress reached a paranoid level, and ditto for the party dress.

With Draco busying himself with an election, their walks about the estate had all but stopped. With the Werewolf tracks on the grounds, Draco forbid her to go alone. When Hermione's complaints fell on deaf ears she was forced to put it to Draco in a different way.

"My legs are getting flabby and my arse is going flat!"

This got the wizard's complete attention. One of the spare rooms on the ground floor, with plenty of windows and a nice view, was filled with exercise equipment and then turned into an in-house spa.

Hermione never thought she would develop an appreciation for exercise the way she did. Ginny had accused her of only doing it to increase blood circulation to her brain. Either way it turned out to be quite beneficial.

With the election of Minister for Magic only a week away, Hermione and Draco's Welcoming do turned into an unexpected celebration; Harry Potter had dropped out of the race unexpectedly. With the election so close this left Draco as an easy shoe-in.

Whatever the reason for this action, Harry Potter wasn't telling and no one could pry the reason out of him. Hermione was hoping Ginny and Harry would accept their invitation to the do, but their RSVP arrived a few days after the invitation was sent. This saddened Hermione, but a unexpectedly large number of non-Slytherins did accept. The most noted was Rolf Scamander and Luna Lovegood. Rolf was a well know Magizoologist and a party animal in his own right. Rolf had a reputation to brighten the mood at any get together, and Luna could get people laughing without really trying.

Many of Hermione's old friends, some of the members of Dumbledore's Army, promised to attend. First and foremost was Neville Longbottom, followed by Hannah Abbott, Katie Bell, Seamus Finnigan, and Cho Chang. An equal number of Draco's close friends also promised to attend.

The night before the Party, Pansy and Frederick Hanson stopped by for dinner and offered to help with the weekend get-together. Pansy was being awfully friendly as of late. Perhaps she would be looking for favors when Draco became the new Minister for Magic.

Immediately she pulled Hermione aside at the first convenience. She made a grab for Hermione's hand.

"The ring is lovely," she said, with a tinge of envy.

"Thank you."

Pansy still held Hermione's hand as if unable to let the huge stone out of her sight.

"Have to say," she breathed at last. "I'm a little envious."

"At least you're honest," replied Hermione.

Pansy let Hermione's hand drop.

"Don't get the big-head Granger. Wait til you see the gown I'm wearing."

"Can't wait," she said and laughed.

"You'll be the envious one then," cracked Pansy and Hermione chuckled nefariously.

"It should be pretty good turnout – I just hope it goes well," said Hermione.

"Have no fear Granger. You can take my word for it."

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

As the big evening drew near, Daisy was just as excited as Hermione if not more so.

"We have to look our best tonight Daisy," cautioned Hermione. "Miss Pansy will certainly be looking hers."

"Don't you worry Miss. You won't have no competition from Miss Pansy. Don't you worry bout that."

"You think not?"

"Oh no Miss – I knows so."

Daisy went into the huge wardrobe and came out with the bejeweled red evening gown. The opaque liner was not in place.

"Daisy... I don't know? We'll have a house full of guests. Don't you think I should wear something under it?"

"Miss, is you wanting Miss Pansy to outshine you or what? I's talked to Mister Alfred and he says the lights will be down low tonight.

"He did – did he?"

"Yes Miss."

"You've been talking to Mister Alfred a lot these days?"

"Yes ma'am," Daisy said and blushed.

Daisy ran her hand inside the hem and the front part of the gown to demonstrate. The glass beaded and lattice net was more densely woven in the front. You could see parts of her hand but not all of it. The loose network of ruby colored stones left her exposed on the sides but were woven more densely over the bum, breasts, and thighs. It would be quite risque in a crowd, but if this wasn't the proper occasion to wear it there never would be.

"Well, I guess I could try it. Depending on what the others are wearing I could always come back up and add the liner."

"Yes Miss – you could."

Hermione slithered into the gown. Magically it shrunk until it fit the wearer's curves. The ensemble was made complete with a pair of ruby red heeled sandals. Stepping in front of the mirror, she checked the results. The extra work on the treadmill had not gone for nothing. Her toned legs and bum were well accentuated by the figure hugging gown. Wearing the bushy hair full, she dabbed on a bit of perfume and let Daisy accompany her to the great-room.

Already a few guests were mingling about downstairs. Some were Slytherins she'd seen at the War Council meeting but couldn't place them. One couple was wearing the colors of Hufflepuff.

Draco was chatting with them and watching for her to arrive. In an iridescent black tuxedo, long blonde locks made him look like a God. She pressed slightly against him and received a wet kiss. He ran his hands along her sides, creating the sensation of cool beaded stones pressing into flesh.

"Hermione this is Ernie Macmillan – Ernie, this is my fiance..."

"Hermione Granger," injected Macmillan, offering his hand.

"Congratulations to both of you," he said with a warm smile.

"Thank you," answered Draco.

They chatted briefly until arriving guests compelled Hermione and Draco to move on.

With warmth and cheer growing contagiously, Hermione was beginning to relax. No longer self conscious about her gown, she looked to find Pansy but didn't spot her until after all the guests had arrived. Luna and Rolf were also fashionably late. Together these two outrageous belles put any remaining fears Hermione might have to rest.

Luna was squeezed into a cream colored and animal printed accoutrement with open sides and a narrow deep V to her waist. Some of the Slytherins were taking up bets as to whether she would fall out of the thing before the night was over.

Pansy, as she had promised, was decked out in a blue gown unlike anything Hermione had ever seen. The gown was opaque and reflective from one angle and completely diaphanous from another. It resembled one of those little 3-d pictures that showed two images depending on how it was turned. As Daisy predicted the lights were down low but Hermione could see Pansy had an attractive body for one who rarely worked to keep it so. Her date, Frederick Hanson, certainly appeared to agree as he never let her out of his sight.

The invitation list had been carefully selected and the Hard-liners on both side had been intentionally omitted. The last thing they needed was a serious scuffle to ruin the peace. And with those precautions taken, it turned out to be a wonderful evening. The long table in the dining room was turned into a smorgasbord of assorted treats and drinks. House-elves meandered through the eddies and currents of the crowd to serve up hors-d'oeuvres of Canapés and Dragon Tartar.

There was, in the middle of the huge table, a large punch bowl of punch made with pumpkin juice and Firewhiskey. Wines were also served but the punch turned out to be a huge favorite.

Most knew that Harry Potter had dropped out of the running for Minister for Magic and some were already referring to Draco as 'Minister' in jest.

Before the night was over Rolf Scamander entertained a portion of the crowd gathered in the sitting room with mating calls from many Magical animals from around the world.

Hermione was to find her gown had magical properties heretofore unknown. As the wearer became more relaxed and less inhibited the gown would follow suit. By the end of the evening the protective latticework of netted beads were so sparsely woven that a snitch could have flown through the widest gaps.

Richard Fawley won the bet that Luna would fall out of her dress by midnight. But like Hermione's disappearing debacle, no one really cared or noticed because they were having such a good time. Most were well on their way under the influence of the pumpkin juice punch.

Seamus Finnigan was chasing Cho Chang about the manor on non-magical brooms. Rolf had progressed to bird calling while Draco and a couple of others smoked cigars in the room he usually used for such things. Pansy offered to buy Hermione's dress and even suggested they swap to see how it would fit.

As the hour became late, some thanked the hosts and then made their way toward the doors. There were several different categories of departing guests. Only a few were sober enough to disapparate safely on their on. The ones that were wasted but clear headed enough to use a third person 'driver', were free to be shuttled home. And the last group, who were a total mess, were strongly encouraged to stay in one of the many empty rooms in the manor. Drinking and disapparating was never safe and often led to splinching.

Even in her less than lucid state, Hermione noticed that none of the rooms in Northeast wing were being offered to put up guests. She scratched her bushy head on that one and pulled in Draco to retire for the night. The poor house-elves had the remaining job of bringing order to the ground floor of the Manor while the last remaining guests went upstairs to carry on the party in their rooms.

Except for Draco and Hermione's master, none of the older upstairs bedrooms had en-suite baths and loos. In the wee morning hours some giggling guests could be heard wandering the corridors in various states of undress looking to find relief.

Finally in the wee morning hours, Hermione and Draco were at last alone. She had to have Draco peel her out of the dress. Hermione looked upon the poor chamber elves, who were sitting on stools in the dark corners of the room. They started up to leave but Hermione raised her hand.

"It's been a long night – the more the merrier," she said with a lisp and fell into bed.

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

Hermione's morning came with a cracking headache. After a quick shower and throwing on a dressing gown, she ambled into the upstairs kitchen to join Draco for a bit of breakfast. Hattie was pouring coffee when she managed to drag herself in.

"I hope everyone made it home safe," Draco said and brushed his blonde forelocks back with his hand.

"I'm sure they did – I think Pansy and Frederick are still here," Hermione said with a thick tongue.

"That makes sense."

Hermione laughed as she thought of the scenes that played out along the course of the previous evening.

"You know, she wanted to buy my dress," said Hermione, pulling a funny face. Draco howled with laughter then grabbed his forehead in pain.

"It does look like her doesn't it?"

"Which version? The early version or the late?"

"I was trying to remember you in the late version," he said and laughed. Hermione tossed a sugar cube at him for his insolence. "You know your tits were completely out," he continued while busting a gut laughing.

"I didn't hear any complaints last night," she countered.

Hermione waited, but Draco had no reply for this. She looked down at the ring. She still couldn't believe it. The morning was completely suffused with an after-party glow.

"I think it was a wonderful party – thank you for that," she announced and got up from seat. She bent over to kiss the wizard and her dressing gown fell open. Hands reached in to play. It was a beautiful morning.

There was the sound of high heels out in the corridor. One of the late guests, probably Pansy, was stopping in to say goodbye. She would probably go on about what a wonderful party it was. It had been, after all, her idea.

The door to the kitchen pushed open. Hermione and Draco were breaking away from the kiss. Hermione chuckled a bit and turned to receive their guest. She almost fell out of Draco's lap.

"What are you doing in my House? And what are you doing with my husband?" demanded the caller.

There was a icy cold moment of silence.

"Astoria? What are you doing here?"

"I've come back to my house and my husband. The question is: what are you doing here Draco?"

.

* * *

A/N: Deepest grats for the comments from keishasalder, hoshiakari7, Chester99, , puddleinthefloor, Kats02980416, mega700201, and KellyCakerMaker. As always, to all who read, followed, or faved – many warm thanks...


	29. The Reckoning

**'I try to avoid looking forward or backward, and try to keep looking upward.'**

**– Charlotte Brontë**

**.**

**The Tower Window**

**.**

**2****9****. ****The Reckoning**

Slowly, and without undue haste or anger, Hermione slid herself off Draco's lap. She pulled snug the dressing gown that had fallen open and tightened the belt.

"Draco – what's the meaning of this?" she asked.

Draco looked toward Hermione and then Astoria. He was caught between two unhappy witches.

"Yes Astoria – what _is_ the meaning of this? We are no longer married – you gave that up when you deserted me."

"You are mistaken Draco – about a great number of things. But I'll answer your questions when you get this trollop out of my house."

"You'll watch your tongue Astoria or it may be you escorted from the premises. Miss Granger here has been a great help to the cause while you have been on permanent holiday. "

"Yes, I can see her contribution to the cause from here."

"Well, regardless of what you think you see, I can assure you our marriage is no longer valid. You gave that up when you abandoned me."

Astoria let out a vindictive laugh. "You turned our home into an operations center for the war. It was no longer a fitting place to live. It was not desertion Draco – I always meant to return and sent you many Owls on this matter."

"Well, it's of no matter now," he injected.

"It _is_ of every matter Draco. You're under the assumption we are still governed by the laws of the Wizengamot. You of all wizards should know better. When the Wizards Council assumed power we fell under the old charter. And under the laws of the Wizards Council it takes willing consent from both parties to end a marriage."

"This is preposterous!" objected Malfoy. "You won't get by with it Astoria."

"I'm not getting by with anything Draco – it's the law. And according to the laws of the old charter you've committed adultery with this woman. I might remind you that's a serious offense under the old charter."

"Are you threatening me Astoria."

"Just reminding you Draco," she went on. "I have lived by my marriage vows and have returned to my husband. Now what do you intend to do?"

Hermione stood there silent and listening to every word. She looked down at the almond size engagement ring. Already it's light had dimmed and the luster had faded.

"I better go Draco," she said and looked to him for any word or instruction.

He could only reflect the hopelessness of the situation. He tried to speak but the words never came.

* * *

Hermione already had the carpetbag packed when Draco came to her door. The engagement ring was sitting lonely on the table.

"What are you doing Hermione?"

"Going home Draco. What else can I do?" she replied, gathering a few last minute items.

"Hermione please – just give me a little time to get this straightened out," he pleaded.

"Draco – are you mental – did you hear what she said? If she brings this before the Wizards Council they will be forced to act. This might be bad for the both of us."

"You know I'd never let any of this harm you," he tried to reassure.

"Draco, what are you talking about – you already have – and in so many ways."

"I'll make it up to you – I promise."

"Draco your promises are cheap."

"Just give me a chance then," he insisted.

"That's what I have been doing, but I can't trust you. If only you would have explained some of this earlier, we could have worked around it."

He tried to put his arms around the angry witch, but she repulsed his efforts.

"You'd have never stayed a minute if I'd told you of this. What could I have done then. Look Hermione – she left me – you stayed. That's what was important to me."

"Yes Draco, but you forgot to consider what was important to everyone else."

Draco pulled an awful face.

"You're right Hermione – as usual you're right. But you can't doubt my love for you. If you could give this some time. I'm sure Astoria has come back for money. This matter can be settled, I promise."

Hermione paused in the door and took one long look at he tower room.

"I hope you can Draco – but for now it's over for us. Goodbye."

With that, the witch walked out of Draco's life.

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

Hermione looked to find normalcy in a shattered existence. Her first thought was to get back to work and as quickly as possible. That was the only way to rid herself of troubling thoughts. She saw her life now as a horrible joke. Every memory of Malfoy Manor haunted her. The over-the-top dinner gowns. What a joke she now thought. The parties, the do's, and finally her engagement, all seemed ridiculous in hind-sight.

The word of Astoria's return was everywhere, and it made her look and feel like a fool. Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, and Slytherins all knew of her disaster. Of the few friends she had only Ginny, Harry, and Pansy would speak to her.

But news from the other side began to trickle in. Because of this mess, Draco had been pulled from the ballot for Minister for Magic. Richard Fawley took his place and won hands down. But Fawley was a moderate. Some considered him little different than a Gryffindor at heart, and many of the Hard-liners were furious about it.

With Hermione's background, it was almost assured that at some time in the future she would land a Ministry job. Unfortunately the Ministry was still trying to recover and the process of re-staffing was very slow. She had hoped in the interim she could find work at Flourish and Blotts but they too were currently unable to hire. She had almost given up hope when Obscurus Books offered her a position.

It didn't pay very well and the hours were long, but at least it kept her mind away from dark things that troubled her. And it was just in the nick of time as her savings were nearly exhausted. After the first week of work, Hermione decided to celebrate with a bottle of wine and a meal of fresh meat and vegetables. She'd been eating out of a tin for weeks and was dying for fresh food. She had a scuttle full of coal and a good book to read. It was would be a good weekend, she told herself.

She was a well into the book and the hour was getting late when she heard a rapping at the door. For a moment she cringed at who it might be. Her list of friends were so short she had a one in three chance of guessing. With her wand in hand she cracked the door. It wasn't a friend on her list.

"Draco! What are you doing here?"

Afraid she might slam the door, he raised his hand to plead for a moments time.

"I've brought a friend Hermione."

"A friend?"

With that, Draco looked left and right and then pulled open the long Greatcoat. Standing waist high to the wizard was Daisy.

"Daisy!"

Unfamiliar with matters of protocol, the little house-elf came running up to give Hermione a hug.

"Her-Hermione," stammered Draco. "Can I come in for a minute?"

Hermione finished the hug before she replied.

"For just a minute Draco – you shouldn't be here."

Draco grimaced but nodded.

"I was thinking you could use Daisy a day or two out of the week," he offered.

"Oh Draco, that would be great but you know I can't afford a house-elf."

"Oh, you wouldn't need to worry about that. She's got her own money and all."

Hermione saw this as an attempt on Draco's part to stay in touch. She wasn't sure how best to answer.

"I would ask how things are going," she said. "But it's plastered all over the _Daily Prophet_."

"Yeah, it's been difficult. She won't budge and now the happiness is gone from Malfoy Manor. All the elves want you back."

"Draco, let's don't go there – please. You have a life now – with your wife. If she finds out you've been here she could still go to the Wizards Council. You could be ruined yet."

"I'm already ruined Granger. And it get's worse every day. Some of us are working to re-establish the Wizengamot. With any luck..."

"It could take years Draco. No, you have to find a way to move forward with the life you have – we all do."

"It might be just a matter of months Hermione," he urged.

Hermione pulled Daisy to her side and looked away. Draco saw this as his cue to depart.

"After all the fighting in the war – this is what I get."

"Yes, it's a raw deal, but it's best we get on with our lives Draco – please don't come back."

Unable to hide the pain in his eyes the wizard disapparated.

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

The days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months. Sometimes, Daisy would inadvertently let news slip from the Manor, but Hermione never encouraged her to tell it, unless it concerned the other house-elves. Griselda had, in a fit of anger, nearly beaten to death another young elf, and healers had to be called in to save the poor soul.

Hermione knew from the gossip columns in the _Daily Prophet_ that nothing had really changed. Astoria had even hosted a _do_, probably to remind the community that she was the one true Lady of the house. With clever use of euphemisms, the author pretty much described the party as a flop.

Daisy said she and Draco didn't get along and slept in separate rooms and that the other elves disliked her as well. Daisy also admitted that she had been seeing a bit of Alfred but that when Hermione left her movements became restricted to the non-living quarters of the house. When this happened, she explained, the two had fallen out of touch.

So things looked pretty miserable at Malfoy Manor. Life for Hermione slogged on. She had spent some time with Ginny and it seemed that any damages to their friendship during the split had been repaired. Ron was seeing others now, and strangely this didn't seem to bother Hermione at all. This had to be telling her something but she didn't know what exactly it was.

Pansy too would occasionally Owl and stop by the bookstore. Like Daisy, it seemed she had never completely given up on Hermione's return. But Hermione had hardened her heart and consoled herself to believe the whole experience was long behind her now.

Richard Fawley would occasionally stop by the bookstore. He would order a book or two and look at her as if to say _is this really the same girl?_. And she couldn't blame him – Hermione looked nothing like the girl he asked out for coffee before the war's end. Now wearing simple work frocks she barely resembled the bold and daring young girl who strolled the corridors of Malfoy Manor half-naked.

The parties at the Manor had a been like a dream where common civil realities barely applied. People were giddy and drunk with the promise of achieving a life far beyond the ordinary. And the sights of girls in diaphanous gowns were not offensive but part of the flirting promise of better times. Hermione had been one of those girls. The girl who wore sheer evening gowns with the daring decolletage; the girl who had been the apple of Draco Malfoy's eye.

As hard as he tried Fawley could never hide the trace of regret that showed in his eye. She thought a time or two that he might ask her to tea or coffee, but he never did. But those days, before the war ended, felt like such a long time ago, and what would the new Minister for Magic see in a girl like her?

She had been bold enough once to ask him if he knew of any new positions coming available in the Ministry. He explained that every resource available was being applied to rebuilding the Wizengamot. She thanked him for the explanation, knowing it might somehow affect Draco's situation.

When it did happen it was splashed across the front page of the _Prophet_:

**New Wizengamot Adopted**

**Original Charter of Rights Reinstated**

The news of this change was so ironic. Now that Draco had the law of the magical community on his side, Astoria was tucked away safely behind the walls of the Manor with no intention of breaking them.

As the weeks went by, there was never any news to indicate the slightest change to their marital status from the new laws. Somehow, Hermione never thought there would be. At last, it seemed, the book had finally closed on the story of Hermione Granger and the adventures of Malfoy Manor. It was time to find a new story. It was time to find a new life.

Finally she got a letter from Flourish and Blotts. It was for an offer of the job she had originally wanted. It wasn't a Ministry position but the pay was a little better and the hours weren't so long. She wouldn't know what to do with the free time, but she thought she might go back to the Muggle health spa. She had lost much weight and energy since leaving the Manor.

For some reason, her visits from Daisy became less frequent. At first it was twice a week, then once a week, and now once every two weeks, if that. Hermione guessed Daisy was gradually giving up on Hermione's return. Either that or Hermione's life in the small flat was so depressing that Daisy wanted no part of it.

Early one morning, before work, an Owl arrived. It was from Pansy. She had tried to look Hermione up at Obscurus Books but couldn't find her. Hermione Owled her back news of the new job and the two witches quickly arranged a lunch at the Leaky Cauldron. There had been a sense of urgency in Pansy's note but whatever the news she had left it for lunch.

Hermione put on her best dress for the occasion. A simple kit, it would probably resemble a sack in Pansy's eyes. A bit late for her lunch appointment, Hermione almost walked right by the huge bold headlines in the morning's _Daily Prophet_. When she paused at the newsstand and saw it she knew in an instant the reason for Pansy's urgency:

* * *

**Malfoy Manor Destroyed by Fire**

The prize of Wiltshire, Malfoy Manor, was consumed by fire today in the early morning hours.

The fire broke out today, well before morning light to destroy much of the famous Manor

before help could arrive. While no wizarding life was lost there were serious injuries and

several house-elves were taken by the blaze. It seems that…..

* * *

Hermione stood there aghast, and totally taken back at the news. She trotted, almost running, to find Pansy at the Leaky Cauldron. When the two witches met, each knew the others thoughts, and instant realizations swept across their faces. Showing much emotion, Pansy grabbed Hermione and the two witches hugged and the tears swelled.

"What happened," began Hermione. "Have you heard?"

"Let's find a seat," Pansy instructed and they grabbed the nearest available.

"Who was hurt?"

"It was Draco," answered Pansy and Hermione was struck with a horrid visage.

"Is is bad?"

"The healers aren't sure to the extent of the injury but it's serious – and they were attacked. This was no accidental fire."

"Attacked!? By who?"

"Do you remember a wizard named Thortlean? He had a sidekick called Pengrove."

Hermione appeared stymied for only a moment.

"The names are familiar – I think they wandered in for some business one day not long after I arrived."

"They were trouble. They fought for the Ministry but were a couple of undesirables for sure. Apparently Draco had some problems with them," said Pansy – half stating – half asking.

"Yes," agreed Hermione as if she knew.

"Well – Draco made an attempt to get rid of them."

"He told me they died fighting the Order."

Pansy shook her head.

"No – here's were it gets a little tricky. Draco gave them up – apparently he and Potter had some kind of agreement, and they used it to moderate the war."

"Agreement," gasped Hermione. "He never said anything about that to me."

"Only Goyle and Nott were made aware of it," said Pansy. "You must know that Muggle killings gradually decreased and finally stopped as the war went on."

"Well yes, but I thought they'd simply had their fill of blood-lust."

"Perhaps. But it turns out the undesirables on both sides were betrayed. You see Thortlean and Pengrove were given an assignment in Knockturn Alley. Potter was well-warned ahead of time. Thortlean and Pengrove were to be killed that day. It would have happened like casualties war of course, but in reality they were betrayed and targeted."

"I would have never imagined Harry would have been involved in something like that – or Draco for that matter."

"It gets worse," warned Pansy. "Thortlean and Pengrove were not killed but turned into Werewolves."

Hermione threw her hands to her mouth.

"You knew of this?" asked Pansy.

"Yes – I ran into them one night and we saw tracks for a long time. But how in the world..."

Pansy threw up her hands. "I couldn't say. It was a cock up of some kind. But they survived only to come back to the Manor seeking revenge."

"This is an incredible story," Hermione said. "Was it just the two of them, the attackers?"

"No, there were more – probably Hard-liners with a grudge to bear."

"And the house-elves that were killed?" Hermione asked, hesitantly.

Pansy had to squint to recall the names. "Alfred and Griselda – I'm fairly sure of – and maybe Dinkins."

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief that Daisy had been spared. "And Draco's injuries – you didn't tell me..."

Pansy shook her head. "It's not good Granger."

"What?"

"It's his eyes – he can't see," she replied and covered her face with her hands.

"Will he recover," Hermione asked, hoping for hope.

"It's too early for the Healers to say."

"This is simply awful," lamented Hermione.

"There's one other thing of note."

"What's that?" Hermione asked.

"Astoria. She's packed her bags. It looks like it may be for good this time."

Hermione nodded silently.

"I wish I could help."

"You can – but not right away."

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

The weeks passed by without another word from Pansy. Hermione wondered why the witch had failed to reach out. She tried not to be suspicious but it hardly mattered. She had been away for so long, she certainly had no claims on Draco Malfoy. Perhaps Pansy was taking advantage of this situation to improve her own chances with Draco. Hermione quickly scolded herself for dwelling on this.

The bitter winter had at last thawed. Piles of snow, shoveled from walkways, had gradually melted and the early spring flowers were beginning to bloom. The smell of freshly mown grass had gradually replaced the wet decay of winter.

She was shelving books when a voice called out her by name.

"Hello Granger."

She spun around to see Gregory Goyle.

"Greg – long time no see." Goyle nodded and smiled.

"Can we talk a minute," he asked.

Hermione studied the wizard for any clue as to the nature of his call but found none.

"Sure – we can talk. We have a break-room in back. Is that okay?"

Goyle smiled his approval and followed Hermione to the break-room table.

"I haven't seen you since the accident," he began.

"I heard it was no accident."

"No, it wasn't. But that hardly matters now. I sorta figured you for the type to visit Draco – but you haven't."

"But what about the wife? Is she out of the picture now?"

"Entirely – she left Draco after the Manor burned. She sent some Owls but never returned. Draco's barristers sought a divorce on grounds of repeated desertions and got one."

"That's news," Hermione said, a bit perplexed. "I would have thought Pansy would have..."

Goyle shook his head. "I wouldn't count on Pansy."

"No – of course not. She has a life of her own after all. I suppose she'll be making a play for Draco?"

"I don't think Draco wants anything to do with her – you should go to him."

"His vision – is it better?"

"You should go to him Granger."

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

Hermione finished her day efficaciously, but the echo of Goyle's advice never left her mind over the course of it. She would leave directly from Flourish and Blotts. Making ready with such haste, she wouldn't have time to change out of her work clothes. From an alley behind Flourish and Blotts she disapparated to the very gates of Malfoy Manor.

But the gates were not there. It had not been enough to destroy the house, the vindictiveness of the attackers had included the gates as well. The gravel path was strewn with boulders and rocks blasted from the gates and the house itself. The remains of the house stood like the skeleton of some prehistoric beast. What had not been totally blown away the fire had consumed. It was little wonder Astoria had gone packing.

Strangely and as if by some miracle, the magically enhanced Northeast wing stood intact and looked as majestic as it ever had. Standing tall and surreal over the grounds, the tower that had been her home was now the tallest point of the remaining structure.

The original route to this wing was buried by a thick layer of ruble and stone. Circumnavigating the remaining structure, there was a door at the very end of the mansion farthest from the fire. Hermione performed the _Alohomora_ and opened the latch. There was a long and dimly lit corridor along the ground floor of which she had never visited. The light of day was about to give out and candles along the corridor walls provided scant illumination.

She proceeded tenderly along until she could hear the pitter-patter of elf feet. Dinky who had come running down the corridor stopped, frozen in his tracks, when he saw her. Stunned, he didn't know what quite to make of Hermione. At last he timidly ventured up.

"Dinky."

"Miss Hermione – is that you?"

"Yes Dinky, it is."

"It's a wonderful day Miss Hermione – it's a wonderful day that you've returned."

"Dinky, is Daisy about."

"Yes Miss. She's somewhere around."

"Can you fetch her?"

Dinky nodded obsequiously and disappeared as fast as elf feet would carry him. At the end of the corridor, that ran the length of the Northeast wing, there appeared to be a large room of some kind. It might be a sitting room or a study of some kind. It had been a warm day and there was no fire to light it. A few candles seemed to flicker in the distance.

Daisy came immediately to Hermione's request. She was delighted beyond words to see her old mistress. They hugged tightly for some time.

"Daisy how are things?" asked Hermione after some time.

"Oh Miss, they has been very bad for some time now. Even before the fire things was very bad. Mister Draco and Miss Astoria, they fought all the time."

"That's terrible Daisy – is Draco down there?" she asked and pointed to the room in question.

Daisy paused but nodded. "Yes Miss he is – but he don't see visitors no more."

"He doesn't?"

"Oh no Miss. Mister Draco – he has visions – Daisy is afraid his mind is going bad. He wants us to bring candles in the dark, but all us house-elves knows he is blind. We is terribly frightened Miss Hermione."

"Daisy, you mean to say the healers don't come by to see him?"

"No Mam. Miss Pansy – sometimes she comes but he don't talk to her no more. He just talks to these walls. We is all afraid. Very afraid."

Dinky, carrying a tray with a glass of water, entered the corridor and turned toward the room.

"Dinky?"

"Yes Miss?"

"Can I carry that in?"

Dinky twitched his large ears and looked to Daisy inquisitively. She signaled her approval in a way only elves could recognize. Taking the tray from Dinky, Hermione proceeded down the long corridor toward the dimly lit sitting room. The flickering candle appeared brighter as darkness had completely fallen on the Manor and grounds.

As Hermione entered the lonely sitting room there was a leather covered Chesterfield facing a window with no light. Draco, with bandaged eyes, sat there as if expecting to see something appear in the window. There was a small table by the chair, and on it a single candle stood bravely against the darkness.

As Hermione moved into the room her footsteps were decidedly different than those of an elf. Draco picked up on the difference in an instant.

"Pansy – is that you?"

When Pansy did not answer Draco rattled on.

"Pansy, I know that's you. I wish you wouldn't come. I've asked you not to come."

Still, the phantom progressed unannounced. Hermione sat the tray on the small table.

"Ah, you've brought food or water. I require neither – so you've wasted your time."

"You need to drink," said the phantom.

"What – who is it?", he asked the dark room. "This is a cruel joke. I cannot see but I have visions nonetheless – and all just as real as life. But this one is a cruel joke."

"It's no joke Draco."

"Yes it is," he said calmly. "The is some cursed affliction from the spell that took my eyes, these visions. Just after my Avada Kedavra scorched his foul hide, his curse took my eyes. I cannot see but these visions never stop."

"Is this a vision Draco?" she asked and stroked back his blonde forelocks that had fallen into useless eyes.

"Granger! Is it really you!?"

"Yes, it's Granger. In voice and in touch."

"How can this be. I've prayed for it but I never believed..."

"I am come back Draco."

"If this is real and not a specter of my cursed imagination, then for how long?"

"For as long as you want me."

At this Draco bowed his head. His whole body shook with giant sobs.

"Don't fret Draco," she said, still rubbing his head. "Your sight will return, as with everything else. We will build the manor back. You'll see. Everything bad is behind us now. You'll see."

Draco continued to sob upon hearing these words.

"Give me your hand Granger, and tell me these words again."

Hermione knelt in front of the blind wizard and held his hand. She repeated her promise.

"But there is a problem Granger. If I could be so bold."

"What is that Draco?"

"Have you come to me to pity - to lend a helping hand. I'll need more from you than that?"

"I'll be whatever you want me to be."

"You'll be my wife then?"

"Yes, of course."

"But Hermione – could you stand being married to a man as impaired as I am."

"I don't particularly see you as impaired. And besides, I think I like this Draco Malfoy better than the old arrogant version."

Draco smiled a crusty smile. "Then we will be married immediately."

"Now that we've got that out of the way – I'm hungry, and I've been all day without rest. Will you take something to eat with me?"

"This is a wonderful day. Of course I will. But I'm afraid the food is not what it was. The kitchen is gone and we lost Dinkins."

"It'll be fine. From now on out we'll never complain and it will all be fine. We'll rebuild the Manor, and we'll rebuild the kitchen. We can't replace poor Dinkins but we can train others to cook just as well. In time, things will be as they were – you'll see. And you'll see with your own eyes with vision that has returned as well."

With that Draco reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and produced a ring. Even in the dim candlelight the diamond had regained the light it lost and sparkled brightly.

"I've carried it every day. I don't know why – I never figured on being so blessed ever again."

With that, Draco slipped the huge diamond on Hermione's finger.

"I never really thought they would – but my prayers have been answered. I love you Granger."

"And I love you Draco Malfoy."

**The End**

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* * *

**A/N:** There will be at least one more installment in the form of an epilogue. I do see a future for these two guys and it's not at all bad. I said in the beginning that this story didn't have to invalidate the 9 ¾ epilogue scene of 19 years later – and while I suppose that's still true, why would anyone prefer it.? :)

I think this story will read better at one sitting after it's finished. I apologize to those that stuck around for a long time and waited for each chapter – if it didn't turn out the way you wanted it to. I sensed that some wanted a longer and more drawn out story of Draco and Hermione while this one, sticking to rules of story structure, ends rather climatically.

As always a special thanks to all who ever commented and reviewed. I studied over all of them and replied to quite a few. To recent reviewers: keishasalder, KellyCakerMaker, mega700201, hoshiakari7, negupta88, Kats02980416 – I want to say thanks again and apologize for not getting back to any of you, but I have been very busy on a Dramione Holiday one shot: _A Merry Christmas Twist. _It's generous in length and something hopefully you can curl up in front of the fire with. Should be out early next week!

Finally, and last but not least, thanks to all who read, followed, or faved. Until next time – Happy Holidays. D.Q.


	30. Epilogue

**The Tower Window**

**.**

**Epilogue**

Hermione felt something hot on her forehead and forced open one eye. A bright shaft of morning light was beaming through the window between a crack in the draperies. A million little dust fireflies were illuminated in it's trail. She tried to move but couldn't. The sitting room had gone cold in the night and the couch was now stiff and uncomfortable.

Making no noise, she managed to prop herself up on one elbow and looked about the room. In the light of day it looked to be a curious and eclectic mixture. She tried to guess the age of interior design; circa turn of the century perhaps? It had been well cared for but was easily over a hundred years old. It had a smell, not mildewed or dusty, but something that only age could create. As bleak as it was inside, a spring songbird outside the window was doing it's best to regale the manor with a happy song. It was the only sound in this part of the house.

Very eager to look over the estate, Hermione was hoping in the back of her mind that things wouldn't look so bad in the daylight. She folded a woolen blanket that Daisy had given her and tried to smooth out the wrinkles in her work frock.

Spelunking along the long corridor, she peeped into every room along it's lengthy expanse. They were pretty much all alike. While the ground floor of the Northeast wing had not been refurbished it had not been as badly neglected as the upper levels. Still, it had been closed up for a long time and needed a good airing. A small maid's station at the end of the long corridor had been converted to a make-shift kitchen. The smell of brewing coffee was strong in the morning air.

Dinky was up and scurrying about the small cubbyhole of a kitchen. He barely noticed Hermione until she was almost on top of him.

"Oh! Sorry Miss – would you like some coffee?"

"Yes thanks Dinky. That would be nice."

Dinky pulled up a small table and chair and set an old china cup with a golden 'M' emblazoned across the front.

"It's all we has left Miss," he apologized.

"It's fine," she replied. "I'm sure it was the best china at one time."

"Yes Miss."

Dinky carefully poured the coffee from an old enameled pot that was flaked and chipped from use and age. His fingers were burned and blistered and several were wrapped. It occurred to Hermione that he and Daisy were making up for the reduced work force.

"Dinky – is Daisy around?"

"She's probably taking care of Mister Draco. He wandered the upstairs corridors all night. Miss Daisy says he made her promise you was really here!"

"He did – did he?" Hermione smiled.

"Yes Miss, he did," he replied.

"Dinky..." began Hermione with reluctance. "How many elves were lost?"

"Oh Miss – it hurts Dinky to think about it."

"Well, you don't have to."

"No – I'll tell. It was poor mister Alfred first. We all heard noises out in the corridors. Mister Alfred, he runs out to see what what going on. Then miss Griselda, and then Mister Dinkins – and just like that… they wuz all gone."

Dinky had to stop his story as his eyes and nose filled with water. He had to turn his back so he could pull up his pillowcase and blow his nose.

"Where are the other house-eves Dinky?"

"They all run off after the fire," he said and threw up his arms. "It's just me and Daisy and a couple of others now."

"Don't you worry Dinky, we'll get things back in order," Hermione encouraged. "I guess this makes you head cook now, doesn't it?"

"Yes Miss – I suppose it does. But we lost nearly all the food in the fire and we can't get no more!"

"Can't get no more!?" mimicked Hermione. "Well Dinky that's nonsense. We'll go visit the shops in Diagon Alley!"

"Yes Miss – but we done tried that. All the shop owners – they don't extend credit to Malfoy Manor – not no more!"

"Oh Dinky! Are you sure about this?"

"Yes Miss. The talk is: Mister Draco, he's done gone mental now. They won't do business except for cash only; and we House-elves, we don't have no cash!"

Hermione pulled and angry face. "Well, don't you worry Dinky. We'll go to Diagon Alley today. When's the last time you and Daisy have eaten?"

"It's been days Miss."

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

Hermione paused to look at the ring. She had forgotten how the weight of it felt so heavy on her hand. There was no doubt the estate could use the money it had cost to rebuild the Manor. She would mention this to Draco.

"Daisy!"

"Yes Miss," said the little elf, stunned to have Hermione to creep up on her.

"Is Draco awake?"

"Oh yes miss – Mister Draco is done with his shower – he's getting dressed."

Hermione smiled and slipped in behind the wizard. He was standing there starkers and struggling with his trousers.

"Are you putting them on or taking them off?" she quipped. The wizard almost jumped.

"Hermione!" he called and let them slip from his fingers.

"Is that really you? I had visions through the night."

"It's me love," she said and gently cupped the wizard's head so as not to disturb his bandages. She kissed the wizard and tongues went playing.

"I think that's you," he said and smiled.

"You do?"

"For sure, but I may need further proof," he said playfully.

Running her hand down his flat abdomen, she toyed at his waist before going further.

"Is this imagination?" she asked.

"No," he said and paused to savor her touch. "It must be you love."

"Good," she said and put her arms around his waist. "But for now we have a few problems we'll need to fix. There's no food for the house, and I'll have to take the elves to town to get supplies."

"Can it wait?"

Hermione laughed. "You're recovering quickly. But we must get things in order; the elves haven't eaten in days."

"They should have told me," he protested. "Why didn't the elves resupply the stores?"

"It's a minor technicality," she allayed. "Don't concern yourself – just get well, and we'll finish this business tonight," she added and poked him in the stomach.

"You don't intend to leave?" he said with a worried look.

"I'll be gone only an hour or two. And besides the food, they're not using the kitchen."

"The kitchen? It hasn't been used in this part of the house in years."

"We'll need to use it now."

"For sure," he admitted, "but it'll take a ton of work."

"We'll feed the elves and resupply the stores," she announced. "With loving care and magic, hopefully the kitchen will be in service by tonight."

"You're a trooper Granger."

"I'm your fiancé Draco," she exclaimed and planted a kiss on his cheek. "Now let's get you decent."

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

With Daisy and Dinky hand in hand, they marched into the first market that served as a fruiterer and greengrocer. There were other stalls in the alley that the elves used, but this one had been a supplier to Malfoy Manor for many years.

"Excuse me," announced Hermione. A tall rangy wizard wearing a white grocer's smock looked over his half-moon spectacles. He glared for a few moments at Hermione and the elves.

"Can I help you miss?"

"Yes, we're from Malfoy Manor, and my elves tell me you won't supply them."

"I'd be glad to supply them," he countered, defensively.

"For cash only transactions? They said you wouldn't extend them credit. You must know house-elves don't carry cash."

The man was looking uncomfortable now. He took a hard look at Daisy and Dinky. He followed that with a hard look at Hermione.

"...I'm sorry miss; I don't believe I've had the pleasure of your acquaintance."

"I'm soon to be Hermione Granger Malfoy… Draco Malfoy and I are engaged to be married." Hermione made sure the man could see the oversized diamond.

"Congratulations," he said. "But you see Miss: there's been a lot of talk… and, well you see I can't extend credit to Malfoy Manor without a deposit that meets or exceeds..."

"Then you would risk the business of an old customer over a little bit of talk?," replied Hermione brusquely. "Let _me_ explain sir. There _has_ been a tragedy at Malfoy Manor, but things will be back to normal very soon now, and we'll be in the gratitude of those that help us. If you don't, we'll take our business elsewhere and never return here."

"Now Miss Granger – there's no need of getting cross."

"Well – are you going to help us or not?"

"I appreciate the power of your position madam, but I'll still need a signed letter from Mister Malfoy."

"I don't think you understand sir. Unless I say so, Malfoy Manor will never be doing business here again. Daisy – Dinky, come along, we'll go somewhere else."

Hermione went storming toward the door with the elves in hand. The grocer could see clearly now who would be in charge of purchases in the future.

"Miss Granger – you're right. I'm sorry..."

Hermione paused in the door. She looked back at the store-keep with a scowl.

"...do you have a list?" he asked, sheepishly.

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

By that evening, the Northeast wing enjoyed yet another milestone of rejuvenation. With much help from magic, the stove from the destroyed kitchen had been moved outside and cleaned up. From that point it was situated into the ancient kitchens of the Northeast Wing and made functional. One of the large sitting rooms had been converted to a dining room and a simple dinner was served.

Draco as usual, was dressed for dinner. The bandages over his eyes had been made smaller and the lengthy chocks of blond hair were now cleaned and hanging well. Hermione escorted him from the upstairs bedroom down a long sweeping staircase wide enough for four.

As for herself, Daisy had found Hermione a dress. She didn't ask where she found it, but guessed it had been left behind some time ago. It had been shortened a bit and then let out to Hermione's size. She thought it might have belonged to Astoria at one time.

Without the gift of sight, Draco's other senses were already becoming more astute. His refined sense of touch and smell didn't recognize the dress after giving Hermione a quick once over with his hands.

"I could stand for that again," Hermione quipped.

"I don't remember that dress, but it is you under it."

He seemed to require constant proof that Hermione was not just part of his affliction of images.

"It's just something Daisy dug up. There's no telling who it belonged to."

"I'm sure it's beautiful."

"Well, if you need to grope me again – feel free anytime."

"Sorry love. It's the only way for me to appreciate your beauty."

"Hey, I'm not complaining – let's see what Dinky has made for us," she said and gently pulled the wizard by the arm into the make-shift dining room. She helped Draco to the head of the much smaller table and sat close enough to help him with the meal.

"How did things go in town?" he began.

"Very well. The misunderstanding is cleared up. Dinky and Daisy will be able to pick up the things we need now."

"Good. Have you looked at the damages yet?"

"Not fully – but yes."

"Are they as bad as Daisy says?"

"I'm afraid so. But, Draco, how on earth was this section of the house spared?"

"It's very old and sturdy, this Northeast wing," Draco said and cracked a wry grin. "Once part of a castle, it was built sturdy to withstand the violence of aggression and war. Every block and stone of this wing is blessed with a charm that is a part of a much larger network of defensive charms – much like Hogwarts. But when castles grew out of style the new house was built and most of the castle was razed except for this section. The new construction never received the protective charms like the old one. It was thought the worst warring times were long behind us."

"I guess they were wrong, huh?"

"Apparently so."

"Does this explain why you refurbished the upstairs – did you somehow foresee all this?"

"No, but the war made me nervous that something like this might happen. Especially if it started to go bad for us. The upstairs needed the re-work anyway so I thought 'why not'?"

"And please explain – what was this business with Thortlean and Pengrove?"

Draco nodded reluctantly.

"You remember the day you met them?"

"Vaguely."

"They had been to the cottage. They knew – or were soon to learn that there were two Hermione's. If word of that had gotten out we'd both been in trouble. At the very least, they would have blackmailed me with the information."

"So that's why you had them killed?"

"No, of course not. Thortlean was a wild card, and he had killed Muggles whenever the mood struck him. He was in it for the spoils of war. He cared nothing for the cause."

"...so they were the Werewolves?"

"Yes. And how that happened I may never know. Apparently they were not killed in Knockturn Alley, but taken far into the forests and turned loose without wands – or some nonsense such as that. They were mauled but not killed by a Werewolf. Another screw-up by the Order."

"And now they're dead?"

"Oh yes – but Thortlean did this before he died," he said and pointed to the bandages that covered his eyes.

Dinky came out with a large roast encircled by potatoes. Two other elves, of whom Hermione didn't recognize, were helping now as kitchen hands. They brought bread, wine, and vegetables.

"Well, they've certainly made a mess of your house."

"Our house, Hermione. You do still intend to marry me?"

"Of course," she replied as if answering a silly question.

"I hope you didn't want a long engagement."

"I don't. We've been through enough as it is."

"Good. I'll need your help with legal matters and you'll be able to help coordinate reconstruction of the Manor as well," he explained. "It'll be easier if you're my wife."

"You won't get an argument here," she said and put her hand on his. "I'll marry you Draco – whenever you're ready."

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

As they turned in that night, Hermione was to discover poetic justice in her new situation. The beautiful bedroom along the Northeast corridor was hers and Draco's now. This is where she had torn the old draperies and was punished by Griselda for it. It was furnished with an eclectic mix of items that had escaped the fire, but was beautiful nonetheless. The en-suite bath was unequaled in splendor in her opinion.

The summer weather quickly hit full swing. To take advantage of it, they had placed chaise lounge chairs in a shaded garden area between the old house and a huge 'wishing oak'. Besides flowers of all sorts, the insects were in full bloom as well. They loved to relax there in the afternoons and would often drift off to sleep under the effects of an afternoon breeze. This afternoon Hermione was reading while Draco was trying to identify birds with his improved vision.

"Draco – you're not wearing your sunglasses."

"It's not that bright today."

"You know what the healers said. It could set your progress back."

"I don't think I can get up," he said and grabbed one of Hermione's books as a shade for his eyes.

"Accio Sunglasses," conjured Hermione. In a few moments a pair of extra dark lens sunglasses came floating her way. Snatching them out of the air, she offered them to the cotton topped wizard.

Draco exchanged the glasses for the book with reluctance. Hermione looked down at her engagement ring and the wide wedding band that now accompanied it.

"Do you love me?" she asked.

"What kind of question is that?" he asked.

"The kind of question a wife asks."

"Of course I do."

Hermione looked unsatisfied with the answer.

"I love you," he said clearly with no hitch of any kind. Hermione smiled.

"Do you know when the house repairs will be finished?"

"No. We're out of money. It's this post war economy, you know."

"Oh."

"We have each other – that ought to be enough," he said, teasingly.

Hermione nodded deeply.

"Yes we do – and soon to have one more."

It took a moment for the remark to sink in. Draco bolted up from the chair. "Are you saying? You're not..."

"Yes – I'm pregnant. I suppose I shouldn't have been so quick to run off those fast handed chamber-elves."

"Well – Hermione – this is great!"

"It's too soon."

"Nonsense, it's perfect. But are you sure?"

"Yes very. I've been hiding the morning sickness until I knew. The other day – when I went to see the Healers about your eyes. I didn't just go for your eyes."

Draco reached out and put his arms around the witch's shoulder.

"Then we must celebrate."

"How?"

"We'll throw a do. We'll invite everyone."

"We can't invite everyone – besides we don't have the space – all the big rooms were lost."

"We'll host it somewhere else – we'll rent a ballroom."

"We should save the money – it'll be better spent repairing the house."

Draco frowned but conceded.

"Well, it seems a shame, and we should celebrate."

"We will – just the two of us."

"You make too much sense Granger – I want to tell the world!"

"The world will know there's another Malfoy on the way – and it will know soon enough."

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

As the weeks went by, Draco's vision improved and Hermione's morning sickness subsided. Her sickness was replaced by a noticeable belly bump. Draco gave it all too much attention and care. He loved to pat it and rub it while trying to guess the sex of the child Hermione was carrying. At first she had her worries, but from the amount of attention he was doling out Hermione knew Draco would be an excellent father. There were still worries. She was a witch of un-magical parents. What if her blood, and the child she produced, didn't measure up? She worried about producing a squib constantly.

Some of her fears were less than serious but deeply concerning to Hermione nonetheless. She asked Draco about some of these concerns over dinner.

"You have blonde hair," she stated as if making some giant discovery.

"Well spotted Granger."

"...and your father – he had blonde hair."

"Another brilliant discovery."

"Draco, what I'm getting at is this: do all Malfoys have blonde hair?"

"Only the best ones," he said and smiled. This only deepened Hermione's concerns and Draco could see it.

"Okay Granger – something is bothering you. Spit it out!"

"Would you be terribly upset if our child wasn't blonde?"

Draco mulled over this question carefully.

"No – of course not. And as a matter of fact I'd just as soon it wasn't."

"That's good," she said, somberly.

"Is that all that's bothering you?"

"What if… I mean – I didn't come from magical parents, you know. I just hope that..."

"Granger – come here!"

Reluctantly she dragged over to the blonde wizard. He immediately wrapped her in his arms.

"You will never fret yourself with this kind of worry again – do you hear me."

She nodded, pensively.

"This self-doubt – you seem to wallow in it. It has to stop. How many times have I had to explain: you're the strongest woman I've ever known. What did they used to say? You're the brightest witch of your age?"

"I don't feel like it," she mused. "It just doesn't make sense… why you wanted to marry me?"

Draco pulled his chair away from the table and sat the witch in his lap.

"Granger, there's something I must tell you."

"Yeah – what?"

"I've always loved you," he said.

"Okay, you almost had me until that," she said and started up. He pulled her back in his lap.

"No, it's the truth. As mental as it sounds – it is. "

"Since when then?" she asked testingly.

Draco shook his head in bewilderment.

"Since early on, when we were both young, but you were always wrapped up with Weasley and Potter. Even when you thought I hated you – and sometimes I did because you wouldn't react the way I wanted you too. You weren't supposed to buck up to me the way you did. After all, I was pure-blood of the purest," he went on mockingly, "and you, well… were not. That took some strength. Girl you had me and you never knew it. If you would have ever lightened up a bit you would have known it then, but you didn't."

"That's sweet Draco – trying to make me feel better – but I don't believe you," she said and smiled a big smile.

"Well – believe what you like, but no more of this worry. Do you hear me. You'll be fine. And the child will be fine, and we'll not worry about it any more."

A long kiss ensued – a kiss that touched all the way to the soul.

_...ooo0O0ooo..._

One day, and quite unexpectedly, Pansy came by to pay a visit. She never apologized for trying to make a play with Draco after the accident. That was the thing one had to accept with Pansy – she never apologized for any of her actions. You had to take the good with the bad. It was a trait that Hermione would come to appreciate in time.

"I've just heard the news," she said, beaming, "when's the date?" she asked, looking at Hermione's tummy.

"Around the middle of November, I think."

"Girl, I'm so excited. A new Malfoy," she said and laughed. "Is the world ready for this?"

"I don't see how," replied Hermione, and they both laughed.

"Well, I'm so happy for you," she said and the two hugged tightly. Hermione would never have never guessed, that from this day on, the two would become closest of friends.

The long lazy days of summer trudged on. There were many days when Hermione and Draco would lie under the 'wishing oak' and tell stories of Hogwarts and the more amusing aspects of life. They never discussed the war. That was the one subject that was taboo in this lovely setting. In time, Gregory Goyle and Marcus Flint would stop by for a visit or share in their evening meal. It was beginning to feel a bit like old times.

In wasn't long before Draco's eyesight improved enough for them to resume their walks together. This was in the nick of time Hermione thought. She constantly berated herself for putting on too much weight. She would become much more familiar with the grounds. In time she knew every nook and cranny, and never again would they be troubled with Werewolf tracks.

Gradually the afflictions of the post-war economy began to lighten up. Enough money began to trickle in to begin the reconstruction of Malfoy Manor. Soon, the sounds and noises of workers building filled all their daylight hours. Within a month, the exterior of the manor was more or less complete. This did nothing to provide more living space but it did do wonders for the spirits. Some of the house-elves that left after the fire wandered up one day. Draco was reluctant to take them back, but Hermione accepted them in with open arms. There would be peace and forgiveness in their new home she promised.

* * *

One morning, Hermione awoke at first light. The morning air was cool and they had fallen asleep the night before with the windows open. They cuddled and spooned in the cool morning air. Draco was still sound asleep and snoring loudly. Hermione ran her hand over his side and felt his scar, the one she had given him.

Old memories flashed through her head. She squeezed her eyelids shut to stop them but they rolled on. She dared not think how different things would have been if she had succeeded in the 'mission'. The war might have ended but her life would have been shite in comparison.

She remembered the cottage and how Draco had saved her from further abuse from Zabini and Nott. He had done this after she had stabbed him. As he lay there, leaking his life blood away in the ruddy soil, she had searched her mind for an answer and knew there 'had to be another way'.

In time she had found it, and it was love. In the end it was love that had conquered all and brought an end to the war.

For some strange but compelling reason, she did her best to sneak out of bed without waking the cotton-top. Throwing on a thin nightshirt, she crept out into the corridor and into the entryway to the tower. Carefully climbing the stairs in her now delicate condition she unlatched the door to her old room. The hinges still squeaked and squealed as loudly as ever.

The room looked pretty much the way she left it, except for a new layer of dust. On the desk was the parchment, ink, and quill, of which she never used. She almost laughed. For the first time, the room was comfortable without the foul smell of burning coal.

She sat on the edge of the bed; it was as stiff as she remembered. Running her hand over the coarse woolen cover, visions of her and Draco there almost made her blush. In truth not all of them were as bad as she had pretended to herself.

The window was clouded with a film of dust and dirt. It hadn't been cleaned since before the fire. The old wooden chair was still sitting by the window invitingly and she took it. The stone cottage was still visible. The cottage windows and doors were closed defensively and the overseer was long gone. The treeline was now lush and green with wildflowers around the perimeter of the property line.

Hermione felt the baby move and then settle. She looked out the window for any glimpse of the future but could find none. Confident the future would find her well and strong, she put her head on the sill and fell asleep.

.

.

* * *

A/N: For some reason, it just felt right to wait a bit before letting the epilogue out. Many seemed pleased with the ending and didn't really want any followups – others did. Well, here it is. There's no huge plot inflections, just a voyeuristic peak into their lives now.

As usual, a big thanks for the comments from keishasalder, Honoria Granger, LanaLee1, burungmalam, mega700201, codevivi, aliduck, Guest, KellyCakerMaker, Pepper, Frozen Darkness 88, Valentina, greeneyewitch, Notroemeosjuliette, and MissusGages.

Should there be another followup sometime in the future? I'll let the comments decide that.

Thank you all for reading.


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